


The Year We Met

by parkjinchu



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Allusions to smut, Angst, Florist AU, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, it happens twice and you dont have to read it but imo its kinda important to the story, its like?? smut but not explicit, its not just porn i promise, okay this was loosely inspired on this seasons era but okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9789092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu
Summary: Park Jinwoo isn't a florist, but for now, he'll pretend to be - so he can win the heart of the insistently late customer, Kim Myungjun.this is a work of fiction, and in no way represents the real lives of astro's members. in case of astro/fantagio/reasonable fan request, this fic will be taken downread full disclaimer on my profile





	1. Summer; Beginning - Part One.

**Author's Note:**

> this isnt finished yet so idk how it will turn out but i think its a really cute idea and i wanted to share it with you all!!! its inspired by the seasons era and each season represents a feeling (which you will discover as we go along). idk how many chapters it will have but i hope you enjoy it!!!

**Summer**

Jinwoo stands at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady for the long and lanky teen, who grabs a pot from the highest shelf and preciously steps back down onto level ground. The older boy breathes a sigh of relief, taking the pot from his hands. “Thank you, Sanha,” he smiles, and grabs a spade.

“I still find it funny, Jinwoo, that I can reach the highest shelf and you can’t,” the boy giggles, his cowlicks bouncing with his jolly laugh. His t-shirt, a pastel purple colour, is stained with dirt along the sleeves and along his chest, abstractly in the shape of fingers.

“Hilarious,” Jinwoo replies, collecting some soil from the paper bag at his feet and dumping it into the newly retrieved pot. Sanha, his junior, and still a high school student, runs to the back of the shop to get some seeds. From the small cabinet of square drawers, Sanha opens one labelled _S.F_ and pulls out a few oblong black seeds.

“Why are you planting sunflowers?” Sanha asked, grabbing a small towel and wiping the sweat off from around his neck. It was an extremely hot day out, and Jinwoo wishes he weren’t locked up in this stuffy floristry, but he supposes it’s worse than being in the middle of a three-hour lecture.

Park Jinwoo was a university student, and chose the florists a few blocks over as his place of work. When asked why, he immediately answers, _because I love flowers_. Deep in his heart, Jinwoo feels, however, that the little shop called him with the power of fate. He’d been looking for a place to work for weeks upon moving to the city, and on an afternoon walk as the sky was turning pink, he came across the florists.

A small shop on the corner of the street, away from busy roads but not too far into the residential areas. Business was great, and it turned out to be a well-known, quaint little store. With weathered wooden slats decorating the outside, dozens of hanging baskets on the shade cover and hooked to the ceiling inside, Jinwoo rather fancied the place.

He loved tending to the vines that tumbled over the edges of their baskets, or climbed up the walls. Loved helping customers pick out flowers for their loved ones. Loved the people who simply strolled past to admire, or smell the flowers. Even on these scorching Summer days, Jinwoo loved the florist shop.

Yoon Sanha, still only in high school, came looking for some money to save up for a pair of shoes and a new guitar, and ended up staying because he liked the atmosphere the store held, too. They quickly became friends despite the age difference, and in the lull of business in the early afternoons, Sanha would tell Jinwoo about his life at school, and Jinwoo would reminisce on his days in school.

“How’s Minhyuk?” Sanha asks, perched on the edge of the till counter. He swings his legs, sunlight tumbling in from the window and glowing over his figure.

Jinwoo chuckles, sweeping up some dirt from the wooden floor, trying to dislodge the mud from between the floor boards. “He’s good, Sanha,” he smiles, stopping to rest on the broom handle and stare at Sanha challengingly. “You should accept his number and text him! I gave it to you for a reason!”

“That would be totally creepy,” Sanha replies, rolling his eyes and playing with one of the cowlicks on the side of his fringe. A blush dances on the apples of his cheeks, and Jinwoo pretends he didn’t notice.

There’s a knock at the door, and Moonbin, a friend of Jinwoo’s from University and his flatmate steps inside. “Hello Jinwoo, Sanha,” he smiles, and props himself up beside Sanha. The teenager smiles when handed a chocolate bar, and immediately begins snacking after a quick thank you.

“Hey, Bin. How was the lecture? Boring?”

“Horrifically so,” Moonbin offers him a chocolate bar, waving it before his eyes. Jinwoo happily snatches it up, but still gives an extra piece to Sanha, who seems to have a talent for persuasion. Or, he just looks at Jinwoo with rounded, puppy dog eyes and bats his long eyelashes, and the elder can’t help but snap off a piece and hand it to him. “I got some notes for you, though.”

“Where’s Dongmin? Surely he’d be done, too. I would have thought he’d come with you,” Jinwoo says, watching Bin look down at his lap to hide his pink cheeks. He hooks the broom up and perches himself on a table in the centre of the room, moving to the side a few small succulents in ceramic jars.

“He went to his agency. They called him half way through the lecture asking him to come in for a photoshoot,” Moonbin explains, reaching over behind him to throw his rubbish in the small trash can. Dongmin, another one of their friends (from university; an art student), was scouted around half a year ago for his incredibly alluring, stunning looks. Now a model, Dongmin is often featured on advertisements, and Jinwoo still finds it odd to see him in the middle of Minhyuk’s dance magazines, selling facial creams.

“When did the boss say we could close up?” Sanha asks the oldest boy, cocking his head to the side. “I have so much homework to do, probably a stack taller than me,” he exaggerates, levelling his hand with the top of his head.

“Nah,” Bin interjects, shaking his head. “Probably only Jinwoo’s height,” he smirks, and the pair laugh at the boy opposite them, a scowl curling his features.

“Boss said we can close at 5,” Jinwoo says, checking his watch, rubbing his thumb over it to smudge away the dirt. “It’s 4:30, you can go. I’ll let it slide – there’s no one here, anyway.”

“Scandalous!” Bin mocks.

“Don’t tell the boss!” Sanha grins, scooping up his backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jinwoo. Bin, I don’t know – I’ll see you when I see you,” he waves as he clambers out of the shop front and down the street.

In the silence that follows the boy’s departure, Moonbin speaks up. “Any idea where Minhyuk is? I’m dying to learn this new dance I saw on YouTube this morning; I think he’d like it.” Jinwoo shakes his head. He has no idea. He’s probably at the dance studio, anyway, or studying for the upcoming finals (he was still in high school, too, though above Sanha).

“I’ll call him. He must be at the Taekwondo studio.” Bin shrugs, waving goodbye as he pulls the phone to his ear and exits the shop.

The shop is empty, for the most part of the afternoon. All the cleaning had been done, and all Jinwoo had to do was lock up at 5PM and head back to the flat. He sits behind the counter, watching the sun fall through the slightly distorted glass, watching shadows twist and grow over plants as the sun lowers in the sky. The yellowy warm glow reminds Jinwoo of the peaceful countryside, of endless green fields and running streams.

When school goes on break, in Autumn, he’ll head back out for a mini holiday, he decides.

His watch ticks over to 4:59, and Jinwoo collects the key and makes his way to the front door. Reaching for the handle, he hears a distant and stretched, “ _Wait!_ ” and turns to look at the source. A man, not much older than Jinwoo himself, is sprinting down the pavement towards the store, hand raised in the air.

He comes to a skidding halt before Jinwoo, who stands rather stunned, as the man leans over his knees and huffs heaving breaths. “Are you… closing?” He mutters between breaths, and lifts his head to stare at Jinwoo.

Usually, Jinwoo would be pissed that someone arrived on closing time and asked to purchase something. It was time for him to go home, and he wasn’t being paid overtime. However, this man peers up at him from behind his long, curled eyelashes, with golden brown eyes to match his light, golden hair.

Though his hair is dishevelled, face red and blotchy and covered in a sheen of sweat – Jinwoo thinks he’s quite pretty. He’s sure he doesn’t look any better himself, probably smeared with dirt. Attempting to hide his blush, the ash-haired boy slides the key into his pocket, opening the door. “Yeah, but I can make one last purchase for you,” he smiles, and leads the man inside.

“Oh,” he replies, grinning. “Thank you so much, you’re a life saver,” he smiles, playing with the button of his smart shirt.

“Not a problem,” Jinwoo smiles politely, and for once, it really isn’t. He perches behind the counter and watches the handsome stranger browse through the large supply of flowers and bouquets. “Do you need any help choosing?” He asks, and the man looks up at him with wide eyes and a smile, shaking his head. Content, Jinwoo continues to stare.

Eventually, the customer brings up a bouquet of yellow and pink garden roses. He places them gently on the bench, fingers twirling in the twine that holds the stems together. Jinwoo punches the price into the machine, “Are these for anyone in particular?” He asks, holding gaze with the stranger for a moment as he asks.

“Ah, yeah,” the man grins, and Jinwoo feels disappointment trickle down his spine. Who was he kidding, anyway? He would never see this handsome man again – what did it matter? Jinwoo was a dreamer, that was for sure. “Her favourite colour is pink, and mine is yellow.”

He hands over the money to Jinwoo’s open palm, taking the flowers in his hand. “Thank you so much for staying behind for me,” he smiles softly, holding the flowers close to his chest. “As a proper thank you…” He trails off, picking a full, round, pink garden rose and plucking it from the bouquet. He places it on the table before Jinwoo’s hands.

Jinwoo raises an eyebrow, but blushes nonetheless.

The guy raises his free hand. “Stupid gift, I know, considering you’re surrounded by them. It’s the thought that counts, right?” He grins, and when Jinwoo nods, he laughs softly, the giggle ringing aloud. Heart melting at the sound, the ash-haired boy behind the counter holds onto the stem of the rose, grateful to Sanha in this moment for cutting off all the thorns.

“Have a nice evening!” Jinwoo calls after him as he exits. The stranger waves through the glass store front, before rushing off back in the direction he came from.

Jinwoo leans back in his seat, running a hand down his face. He twirls the rose between his fingers, smiling softly. “Woah…” he mutters to himself, wishing he’d gotten a name of some sort to place with such a pretty face.

+

It would be a lie if Jinwoo said that he hadn’t thought of the stranger in the four days since they met in the early evening. He’d even told Moonbin about the man, on the way to the convenience store to buy an ice cream each.

They’d sat outside the corner store, opposite each other on a round table. “When was this?” Bin asks, sighing as he feels the cold cream cool his body down.

“Yesterday. At closing time,” Jinwoo answers, thinking about the way the sunlight shone over his features. He knew it was crazy to reminisce on someone he might possibly never see again. Perhaps that was why he told Moonbin, to be assured he was insane, to give him the ‘okay’ to forget him.

However, Jinwoo obliterates that thought from his mind as once again, on closing time, the stranger appears on the corner. Jinwoo leaves the key in the lock, “Would you like to come in?” He calls out to the forlorn looking stranger, who’s beaming grin sends a jolt right through Jinwoo’s heart. _Crazy_.

He jogs down the path, and into the little store, thanking Jinwoo profusely. “I need another one of those bouquets, if you have any?” He waits for Jinwoo in the centre of the room, the sunlight painting yellow streaks over the dips of rolls of his features. Letting him select the bouquet, Jinwoo steps behind the counter. “You’re too kind, letting me come in again at closing time. I’m sure I must be annoying,” he says, gently placing the flowers over the desk, turning them so the bow of twine rests on top.

Jinwoo smiles, dialling up the numbers into the machine, and the customer pulls out his wallet. “It’s fine – I like it here, especially serving such a nice person,” he comments, and the stranger lifts his head from stroking the flower petals, grinning widely. Inwardly, Jinwoo curses himself – _why didn’t I flirt?! This was my opportunity!_

“Well – I’m glad it’s you again,” he says, holding the flowers in his hands. This time, he pulls out a yellow garden rose, and holds it out for Jinwoo. “I may frequent. When I come back, I’ll request…?” He trails off, asking for the name of the florist.

“Jinwoo. Park Jinwoo,” he smiles, gently taking the rose from between the man’s long fingers. “Thank you…?”

“Myungjun,” the stranger – Myungjun answers. “Kim Myungjun,” he echoes Jinwoo’s words, lips wrapped around a bright grin. “I’ll see you later, Park Jinwoo,” he waves gently, and closes the door behind him.

Jinwoo successfully claimed a name to put to the handsome face. Now, he feels he’s wrapped around Kim Myungjun’s finger like the twine around his bouquets. He feels both elated and pathetic – the feeling of new love weighed down by the poignant fact that the handsome man was only a stranger to him.


	2. Summer; Beginning - Part Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sprig of lavender should have opened Jinwoo's eyes - but he was too blinded by Myungjun's smile to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheheh i hope you like this ;0 i hope you like myungjun's intentions, too... hmm

“You should have flirted with him!” Sanha laughs, flicking Jinwoo in his forehead. He shrinks away as Jinwoo grabs at him, attempting to chase him. The warm sand beneath his feet squeaks as the eldest runs after him, hands clutched out for him. The sun beats down on the group of five, who upon discovering they all had a day off, decided to head for the beach.

“It’s not that simple, Sanha,” he groans, as Sanha ducks behind Minhyuk, awkwardly bent to secure himself behind a much smaller body. Minhyuk laughs, puffing out his chest and pretending to be a human shield. “He’s practically a stranger!”

“Exactly,” Dongmin argues, laying out his towel beside Moonbin. He’s already wrapped a towel around his shoulders and set up an umbrella to protect his skin, settling under it. “You have nothing to lose, then,” he smirks cheekily, and Bin claps him on the back. Jinwoo supposes everyone knows, now, that he was infatuated with Kim Myungjun.

“It seems he already has someone, anyway,” Jinwoo huffs, and Sanha’s smile drops sadly. “He keeps buying the same bouquet for some girl who likes pink.”

“Maybe he’s buying so many flowers because their relationship is on the rocks,” Minhyuk suggests, sliding his sunglasses off the crown of his head and down his nose. Jinwoo likes this suggestion, however bad it makes him feel to think so. The boy turns to Sanha, “Can we go to the water yet?”

Sanha nods quickly, and the two sprint off to the shore, and Jinwoo watches them play in the waves. The long stretch of blue ocean meets the pale blue of the clear sky, bodies scattered over the ruffles of white, lacy waves. The sharp smell of salt water and sunscreen mingling with the distant smell of barbecue met Jinwoo’s nose, bringing with it a feeling of nostalgia and peace.

Jinwoo feels the sun beat down on his bare half of his lower thighs, prickling along the skin and leaving a tingling sensation when he draws his legs back into the shade. Moonbin slides out of the shade Dongmin’s umbrella had provided, resting on his stomach and willingly letting the sun bathe his skin. “Don’t get burnt,” Dongmin warns carefully.

“Don’t worry, Minnie, I put sunscreen on,” he smiles at the boy, who grins in reply.

Jinwoo can’t help but let his thoughts drift back to Myungjun in the silence. Golden hair, split down the middle and fanning out over his forehead. Plump, pink lips framing a brilliantly white smile. Golden brown eyes, caramel-coloured and sparkling.

Jinwoo decided that he was only allowed to think about Myungjun in a way as if he were appreciating art; he wouldn’t look too deeply into him as a person, but he would admire the aesthetics. Besides, Myungjun was more than likely taken; he wouldn’t stop buying those damn pink and yellow garden rose bouquets for ‘her’. Jinwoo had to keep ordering pink and yellow roses, regretfully, so he could keep Myungjun coming back for more.

Towards the end of the day, the carpark starts to thin out. The youngest boys are too tired to continue swimming, and Dongmin is sick of moving his towel as the shadows crawl across the ground, so the group of five retire to the near empty carpark. Jinwoo takes a list of requested ice creams, and heads off to the nearest corner store to purchase them with Dongmin.

Lee Dongmin was incredibly handsome, breathtakingly so; Jinwoo would have already taken a piece of him if it weren’t for Moonbin pining after him. Under the setting summer sun, the pink and orange highlights in the sky reflected off the pointed curves of his cheekbones. Oddly enough, Jinwoo finds himself reminded of Myungjun, instead. _Stupid_.

“Is it crazy?” Jinwoo asks as they walk along the path, flip-flops tapping against their heels. “Is it crazy that I like him, when he’s practically a stranger to me?”

Dongmin ponders for a moment, opening the door to the air conditioned room, and Jinwoo feels the cool air like a wave rolling over his body. “Maybe it was love at first sight,” Dongmin says, like a joke, but Jinwoo takes it seriously. He seems to notice, and shrugs, sliding open the freezer door and ducking his arm inside, “Maybe you’re just mistaking your feelings. He’s a nice, attractive guy.”

Upon return, the boys are strung along the rail separating the black carpark from the small patch of greenspace between the sandy shore, towels slung over their shoulders and silhouettes matched in a row of three. Jinwoo and Dongmin hand out the cold treats and settle themselves down.

In shorts with pink-tinged and sore skin, with ice cream melting down their fingers and over their wrists in rainbow-coloured rolls, and hair sticky with salt water – Jinwoo decides Summer is his favourite season. The sun lowers itself over the ocean, painting the sky in hues of pink and dyeing the ocean purple and orange. Bubbly laughter echoing around them makes the night feel as if it’s going in slow motion.

Jinwoo is happy.

+

The next time Jinwoo sees Myungjun, he arrives in the middle of the day. Jinwoo becomes convinced that the sunflowers turn to follow Myungjun’s beaming smile.

The customer is clad in a loose tank top and a pair of shorts. His feet are tucked into short socks and canvas shoes, and his hair has fallen over his eyes. His attire is a stark contrast from his usual appearance, but Jinwoo doesn’t mind. He wonders if Myungjun would look good wearing anything (especially, nothing at all – but he pushes that thought aside as the customer scurries over to the counter).

“Can you believe it? I don’t need pink and yellow roses, today,” he pushes his fringe out of his eyes, but it falls straight back over his eyebrows.

Jinwoo draws back, eyes wide, “I just ordered new roses for you, though.”

Myungjun chews on his lip nervously, looking a little bit guilty. “For me?” He asks, eyebrow raised. Jinwoo feels his heart jump, and suddenly the room feels a tad warmer. The man across the dirt-swept counter chuckles, waving his hands about. “I’m sorry for being such a nuisance.”

Jinwoo immediately shakes his head, managing to clear his red-dusted cheeks, too. “Don’t worry about it – when I see them in the store, I’ll think of you,” he grins. _Did that really just come out of my mouth? Did I just flirt with him? Oh my God._

The customer grins, leaning forward ever so slightly. “I’m glad,” he replies simply, playing with the strands of his pesky bangs again. “It’s only because I learnt the meaning of the roses – you know? The language of flowers – I figured they weren’t the best choice,” he shrugs, and taps his fingers in rhythm and canon along the benchtop.

“Oh, really? What do they mean?” Jinwoo asks, resting his chin in his hand and glancing up at the man. He was glad for the lack of customers on this fine day – everyone must be out enjoying the beaches and community pools. Perhaps Myungjun was ready to do the same, before he showed up here.

The man raises his eyebrows, though they’re mostly hidden behind his hair. “Wow… A florist who doesn’t know the meanings of flowers – never would have guessed,” he laughs, and his tongue slides out from between his teeth, teasing. “Yellow roses mean joy and warmth, and caring, and stuff like that. Pink roses mean poetic romance, though, which is really unnecessary in this case.”

It’s Jinwoo’s turn to raise his eyebrows. Poetic romance – was this something Myungjun did not have with the previously mentioned ‘her’? Jinwoo, almost evilly, feels giddy. He quickly swipes the feeling away and sneakily gives himself a pinch on the wrist – how rude of him. “Oh, why not?” He asks, and wonders if it’s too invasive a question. Before he can worry, the customer answers him.

“I don’t think it’s reasonable to have a poetic romance with my grandmother,” he laughs, head tipping backwards and hand falling to his chest lightly, fingers dancing over the exposed skin over his collarbones. Jinwoo feels a heavy weight in his gut explode into butterflies and flutter around inside of him – Myungjun doesn’t have a girlfriend to give these flowers too. Jinwoo was envious of a grandmother?!

“Which flowers will you get instead?”

“If you have any, I’d like to get lavender, please. I know it’s not in her favourite colour, but when given as a gift, it promises new adventure,” Myungjun rattles on. He shuts his eyes for a brief second, shaking his head gently, “At least, that’s what Google told me.”

“Don’t feel nervous if you get the meanings wrong – I have no idea,” Jinwoo reminds him, grinning and stepping up from his stool. “I’ll be back in a moment; the lavender plant is out the back.” Myungjun nods, and Jinwoo ducks out to the plants in the greenhouse out the back.

The back garden is a small greenspace secured by tall walls, crawling with climbing vines. In the centre is a greenhouse, covered bottom-to-top with greenery and spurts of colourful flowers. Before the door is a short line of lavender, and Jinwoo sinks to his ankles and goes to cut some off.

Carrying it back out, he ties it in twine before Myungjun’s eyes and rolls it into a small leaflet of brown paper. The customer takes it tenderly into his hands and pulls out his wallet, paying the price quickly.

“In tradition,” he clarifies his next move, as he pulls out one long flower of lavender and slides it Jinwoo’s way. “Don’t think of it as a gift,” he says, rather bashfully, ducking his eyes behind his long fringe and his thick, dark eyelashes.

Jinwoo nods, picking up the stem gently and holding it against him. “I’ll see you around, Myungjun,” he waves as the man makes his way to the door, head down.

When he finally makes it outside, he lifts his head, grinning, again. “Learn some flower meanings, Florist Park Jinwoo!”

+

“Didn’t think you’d study so hard for a test,” Bin observes Jinwoo’s work, peering over his head. The older boy swats him away.

Jinwoo is not studying for a test; he’s learning a new language, the language of _flowers_ , actually. Myungjun had inspired the idea and Jinwoo desperately wanted to impress him. The afternoon he’d left the store with a handful of lavender and his calves bared for Jinwoo to see, Jinwoo had gone to the stationery store and bought a few supplies.

His notebook was a small notebook, fittingly adorned with a little drawing of a flower in the centre. He knew Dongmin had left some art pencils laying around, and he himself had plenty of stationery supplies. Setting up his laptop on a page titled _Meanings of Flowers_ , and a Google Images search bar with an empty field, he sets to work.

A few minutes later, his book has four flower meanings in it, beside each of their respective names is a small sketch.

_Acacia; Concealed love. Beauty. Chaste Love._

_Ambrosia; Your love is reciprocated._

_Amaryllis; Pride._

_Anemone; Forsaken._

“Is this about that guy at the shop?” Moonbin asks from above him, refusing to leave. Jinwoo grumbles unappreciatively from beneath, uselessly throwing his arms over the laptop screen and the little journal. His cheeks flare up in splotches of pink, connecting over the bridge of his nose.

“Go away, Bin,” he warns, shoving one of his elbows back as a direct attack into the centre of Moonbin’s shin.

A while later, Jinwoo types into the search bar, _‘lavender flower meaning’_ and wonders if Myungjun’s grandmother liked her gift. There’s one sprig of the purple flower in a small vase, delicately on display in the centre of the coffee table. The lavender had replaced the roses previously handed to him.

_Only when given as a gift, lavender represents new adventure. However, it typically symbolises purity, devotion, and love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey! did you like that?? summer will only have one more part, before we head off to autumn... what awaits park jinwoo in autumn?


	3. Summer; Beginning; Part Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myungjun meets some friends. Jinwoo's cover is almost blown. And Jinwoo really wants to kiss the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!  
> baby roha can still celebrate too right?? :P

The soft sound of the door scraping against the wooden floors can be heard as the door slides open, and Myungjun enters. Jinwoo is hovering over a collection of succulents, gloves caked with dirt as he digs around their little pots for any new roots to pull out and give a new home. He lifts his head as the customer arrives, and a grin is instantly plastered over his lips.

“Back, again.” He notes, and Myungjun smiles widely, showing off his pearly teeth.

“What can I say? I like it here,” he says, smiling cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents like moons, with crinkles at the corners where his golden skin folded like valleys. Jinwoo wants to say, _I like it when you’re here, too_ , but he swallows his words and saves them for another day, hopefully.

“What would you like today, Kim Myungjun? We have more lavender, and roses – or, if you’d like…” He pauses, feeling a little bit embarrassed, suddenly. Myungjun waits for him to continue, head cocked forward slightly and eyebrows raised. Today, Jinwoo can see the clear expanse of his forehead, fringe out of the way. “I learnt some flower meanings to show you,” he smiles bashfully, and Myungjun grins.

Jinwoo drags an extra seat behind the counter, peeling off his gloves and patting the new seat for Myungjun to sit at. He perches on one beside it and grabs the small journal with the flower in the centre, and slides it over to Myungjun.

His fingers are gentle to pick up the book, as if it were a sacred artefact. He carefully pulls off the elastic boundary and slides his finger over the pages, flicking through. Myungjun’s caramel eyes dance over every careful colouring, and every flick of Jinwoo’s letters. There’s a dainty smile on his lips and the faintest blush on his cheeks, and Jinwoo can’t look away.

Was he really getting a crush on a stranger?

“You really did this?” Myungjun asks after the long silence, gently shutting the journal and turning it over in his hands, running his finger over the printed flower on the front cover. “Because I couldn’t believe you were a florist with no flower language?”

Jinwoo shrugs, feeling the blood rush to his face. “I wanted to impress you,” he mutters, looking away.

Myungjun giggles, “Okay, I get it,” he says, a delighted lilt to his words. “Let’s see if you can _really_ impress me, though,” he teases, flicking to a random page in the book. “A gardenia. What does it look like, and what does it mean?” He raises an eyebrow, challenging Jinwoo in a small game.

There’s not a soul in the shop, but theirs alone in the far corner.

Jinwoo ponders, looking up, glancing down at Myungjun before his own hands. “Umm… It’s white, and the petals curve around in a spiral,” he says, and Myungjun nods excitedly, eyes wide with adoration. “It means ‘You’re Lovely’ or ‘A Secret Love’,” he answers, looking hopefully to the man across from him.

His grin is wide and open, plump lips framing it beautifully. It may be the sunlight pouring in and highlighting his hair like a halo, but he looks like he’s shining. “Very impressive, Park Jinwoo,” he says with a wink, carefully closing the book and wrapping the elastic around it. “So, you have been doing your studying. Smart _and_ pretty,” he adds.

Jinwoo flicks his head up, eyes flittering over Myungjun’s face, decorated with a cheeky smirk. He’s about to shamelessly flirt back, when the front door to the shop swings open, and Sanha stands in the frame, a shadow before the sun.

“H-Hello, Sanha,” Jinwoo stutters over his greeting, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Myungjun sink into his chair a little bit.

The teenager is clad in his school uniform, a backpack slung over his shoulders and drooping down to his hips. His hair is slightly curled in the front, his cowlicks bouncing at his every move. “Hello, Jinwoo. Hello Myu—Who are you?” He asks, and Jinwoo is about to run up and push Sanha back out the door. First, he walks in on a moment with Myungjun, then almost reveals that he knows exactly who he is?

Myungjun stands, signature grin faltering a little. Jinwoo feels a bit guilty, and really mad at Sanha. He can’t hold it against him, though, he’s just here for his after-school shift. “I’m Kim Myungjun,” he says, bowing slightly.

Sanha grins, “Nice to meet you, Myungjun,” he waves, and eyes Jinwoo, who practically scowls in his direction.

“I should probably go, I’ve caused enough interruption today,” Myungjun chuckles awkwardly. He looks between Jinwoo and Sanha, eyes landing on Jinwoo finally, and he grins. “Thanks for letting me stay and chat,” he says, and promptly heads for the door.

“Myungjun,” Jinwoo stops him. Swiftly, yet apprehensively, the man in question turns to face Jinwoo. “You weren’t an interruption at all. I like having you around,” he waves gently, to which it’s returned by the customer, who ducks out the door and down the street, hands in his pockets.

Sanha, who had been caught in the middle of this, bounced on his toes. “Was that Myungjun? _The_ Myungjun?” He smirks, his sneakers squeaking as he runs up to the counter and bounces on top.

“Yeah – and you almost made it obvious that I don’t stop talking about him by calling him by his name!” Jinwoo complains, openly mocking himself in the process. He lays a gentle punch to Sanha’s arm. “How’d you know it was him, anyway?”

Sanha is clutching his bicep where Jinwoo had punched him. Jinwoo hadn’t meant for it to hurt, but sometimes he forgets that Sanha is still growing, and he himself is in university. The teenager scoffs, “Oh, Jinwoo – as if I couldn’t tell by the way you were looking at him,” he answers, and his face instantly changes – eyes going wide and gooey, smile turning subtle and warm. “Making this face – this lovey-dovey face,” Sanha points to his face, swirling his finger around his features to make a point.

“Oh, whatever,” Jinwoo mutters, brushing him off and turning away. Before Sanha can grab it, Jinwoo shoves his language journal into his backpack beneath the counter.

“He didn’t buy anything?” Sanha asks after a moment, glancing at the door.

Jinwoo stares at the door, still swung slightly ajar so the vines that dangle over the top fall through until they sway gently in the warm breeze outside. He realises that Myungjun hadn’t even glanced at the flowers, at all. A small piece of Jinwoo’s heart hopes that Myungjun arrived for him, instead.

+

“It’s starting to get colder,” Myungjun notes, as he swings the door open to the shop. Jinwoo looks up from where he’s planting seeds into a long row of pots, squatting on the ground. Minhyuk sits behind the counter, only one earphone in, foot bopping to the beat as he’s sprawled backwards in his chair.

“Hello, Myungjun,” Jinwoo says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He remembers all too late that he still has his muddy gloves on. Myungjun chuckles, and reaches down to wipe his thumb over Jinwoo’s forehead, dusting the dirt off on his pants. Jinwoo feels a warm blush climb up his neck and over his face, and ducks his head away.

“Not in here,” Jinwoo mutters, pushing the dirt over the little seed. “It’s always boiling in here.” He shuffles along, to the next small pot.

“Hello – is Myungjun your name?” Minhyuk asks from behind the counter, now sitting upright. He knows, already. Jinwoo turns his head and scowls, glaring at him from the wooden floor. To clarify, the teen mumbles, “I heard Jinwoo call you over.”

“Yes: Kim Myungjun. Nice to meet you…?”

“Minhyuk. Park Minhyuk,” the teen answers his unfinished question, pulling out his earbud. He sits up a little straighter, and Jinwoo watches on.

“Park? Are you both related?” The older man looks between them, slightly confused.

“No – just a coincidence,” Jinwoo offers with a gentle smile, lowering himself to sit on the floor.

Myungjun nods, and steps forward to the counter. “Do you work here?”

Shaking his head, the teenager leans his elbows on the benchtop. “No, just here to hang out with Jinwoo. I work at the children’s Taekwondo studio as an assistant teacher,” he smiles gentle. “Student teacher,” he clarifies.

“Oh, really? I’m a student teacher, too!” Myungjun replies, vibrant grin gathering the attention of the flowers. “Not for Taekwondo, of course not, I’m not that skilled. Early education, you know? Finger painting and counting to twenty and learning what noise a pig makes.” His gaze falls to Jinwoo who comes to stand beside him, dropping his muddy gloves on the counter.

“I didn’t know you were in early education,” Jinwoo smiles at him, genuine and beaming. Myungjun returns the bright grin, pink-tinted cheeks framing his smile.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Park Jinwoo,” he says, a sense of faux mysteriousness in his tone. He waves a hand before Jinwoo’s face and giggles – a sound that makes Jinwoo’s heart melt and dribble down into his insides. It’s a warm and bubbly sound, and Jinwoo can’t help but join in.

“Maybe, we can change that?” Jinwoo asks, adding a flirtatious tone to his voice. He’s desperate, he really is.

The man raises an eyebrow, but his smile only widens. “Only if I learn more about you,” Myungjun bargains, and Jinwoo nods, running a hand through his hair. He can feel the butterflies rummaging around in his stomach. Pretty, and fluttering; they fall flat onto the bottom of his belly when Minhyuk coughs awkwardly.

“I gotta go – the summer classes are fairly busy,” he mutters, and the older two men rip their attention away from each other and to the teenager. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he tucks his earbuds back in, and sends a quick glance Jinwoo’s way.

 _“Thank you,”_ The man mouths, and waves him off.

As the door shuts and Minhyuk has disappeared around the corner, Jinwoo hoists himself onto the bench. The two look at each other, holding each other’s gaze. It takes every last ounce of his strength to not let his gaze travel over the rest of Myunjun’s gorgeous features, down past his deliciously plump lips and over the dips of his collarbones. “So,” he begins, “What can you tell me about you, Myungjun, that I don’t know?”

“We don’t know each other very well, where shall I begin?”

“How about I ask you questions?” Jinwoo offers, swinging his legs along the counter. Myungjun purses his lips in concentration, releasing them from their hold after a minute. A long, white line stretches over them and fades instantly, and Jinwoo wants to reach down and press their lips together. He doesn’t though – because he’s thought of a question, because Myungjun is waiting, because Myungjun doesn’t know him, and because Myungjun doesn’t love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!! autumn is just around the corner, get ready :D


	4. Autumn; Yearning - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinwoo walls deeper, and deeper. Offerings, suggestions, and getaways are all Jinwoo can think about, as he tangles himself furhter into Myungjun's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the autumn phase of our story here! if you couldnt tell by the title... it might get a little sad. but dont worry, winter is only worse~ (im so sorry everyone but pls stick with me heheh)
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter, and pls read the end notes!!

Dongmin is tucked into the corner of the shop, huddled over his sketchbook and surrounded by vibrantly coloured pencils. Wooden shavings surround him in a circle as he’s dusted them from his workspace, and he glances down at the book in his lap after scanning the floristry. His hand wraps obscurely around the pencils, dragging flourishes of colour across the page.

He’d been visiting a lot lately, drawing in many different styles; assignments were due in and stress was a heavy grey cloud that lurked above him. All of the five friends, in fact, were drowning in exam papers and essay drafts. Jinwoo worked at the florists as a refuge. Sanha had cancelled all shifts for the next month so as to spend all of his spare time studying.

“Has he been in, lately?” Dongmin asks out of the blue, sharpening a pencil. Jinwoo peers up at him from behind the tools shelf, catching Dongmin’s outline against the wooden walls. His soft pink jumper swallows up his delicate frame, though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and reveal his hands and wrists, dyed from ink.

Jinwoo knows he’s talking about Myungjun. Dongmin is the only friend of his who hadn’t met Myungjun yet – Moonbin had been passing on some notes from a lecture when Myungjun had arrived, and Jinwoo was both bothered and impressed that they’d hit it off immediately. This in mind, however, he decides to play dumb. “Who? Sanha?” Dongmin pushes his hair out of his eyes, sending a narrowed glance at Jinwoo. “No, he’s taking the next month off to study before Autumn break.”

“You _know_ who I mean,” the younger boy mutters, leaning back in his chair. “Myungjun. Has Myungjun been around lately? Or is he under this stress, too?”

Jinwoo blushes, stepping out from behind the shelf with a watering can in hand. “Yeah… He’s been around.” Jinwoo could feel the stupid, fond grin climbing onto his features, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, stop it. He hears Dongmin chuckle, and hurries to defend himself. “Hey – I like him, okay? We’ve all been over this.”

Dongmin sits up a bit straighter, shuffling around in his seat. “As a person, or as a good looking customer?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. His piercing eyes watch him closely, aiming at Jinwoo, the target.

Carefully, tipping the can over a collection of pink and purple and yellow flowers, Jinwoo waters the plants. He can hear the soft trickle of water inside the rusted can as it flows out. “As a person,” he answers, honestly. Dongmin leans forward again, eyes asking, _seriously?_ Jinwoo feels a little hurt – did Dongmin think of him as shallow?

“We really got to know each other!” Jinwoo replies, stepping aside and letting the water flow over into the next basket. “We have so, so much in common. You know he loves to dance? Plus, he’s really smart, and creative, and he has a very vibrant personality – I can’t stop smiling when he’s here,” he babbles, and Dongmin laughs softly.

“Cute, Jinwoo,” he says, and drops his head to his sketchbook. He wags a pencil between his fingers. “Have you guys hung out at all, outside of the shop?”

Jinwoo averts his gaze, blushing. “I mean… I’m too nervous to ask,” he answers, and bends down to shuffle some soil around in the pot below him. “But, I thought about asking him to come with me to the countryside. You know how I go every Autumn?”

Dongmin nods, asking him to continue.

“He said he’s never gotten to spend more than a school field trip in the countryside, and he seemed really upset by it. I think it’d be nice to take him out there, and give him a little tour of the town I grew up in. It’d be nice in Autumn.” The older man looks to Dongmin for some sort of affirmation, for Dongmin to say that it was a good idea, and not stupid.

“That’s nice, Jinwoo. I’m sure he’d love it!” Jinwoo grins.

Speak of the devil, the light-haired boy appears in the window. He’s snug under a mock-neck knit sweater, and as he waves and only the tips of his fingers poke out from beneath his sleeves, Jinwoo can feel his heart melt. Myungjun’s grin, enveloped by his large lips, is shining brighter than the sun.

Jinwoo waves him inside, and as the little bell twinkles above the door upon Myungjun’s entry, he greets him, “Myungjun, how are you?”

Dongmin lifts his head at the name drop, and widens his eyes at Jinwoo. Choosing to ignore him, he instead stares at Myungjun, skipping over to hop on the counter. Quickly, he’d made himself comfortable here. “Good, Jinwoo, how are you?”

“Better,” he smiles softly, and he can see Dongmin smirk. He decides to address the elephant in the room, “Myungjun, this is Dongmin, another friend of mine. He’s in here doing art for university,” he gestures. Part of him is annoyed that Dongmin is here to display his earth-shatteringly good looks, but he keeps that thought to himself. What if Myungjun found him insanely attractive and fell in love with him instead of Jinwoo?

Jinwoo scoffs, inwardly. Myungjun wasn’t his – he held no ownership. Disgruntled, he leaves his thoughts behind and secures a healthier attitude to the situation, smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Myungjun,” Dongmin bows slightly, and Myungjun returns the favour. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” he smiles.

Jinwoo wants to kick Dongmin.

“Ahh, he’s a talker – I’ve heard quite a lot about _all_ of you, to be honest,” Myungjun laughs awkwardly, a red blush dying his cheeks. “Especially from Sanha, though, who won’t stop talking – ever.” He grins, and peers down at the sketchbook in Dongmin’s lap. “So, you’re an artist? These are lovely,” he comments, eyes tracing over the fine details.

“Thank you,” Dongmin smiles, though not at Myungjun and his heartfelt compliment. Instead, he raises his eyebrows at Jinwoo, _say it! Come on, Jinwoo!_ He seems to say, and begins to stand. “Jinwoo, I’m just going to head to the bathroom,” he says, and smiles apologetically to the both of them as he departs. Standing in the doorway to the back room, he shoots the older friend a pointed look, and ducks away into the darkness.

“What brings you here today?” Jinwoo asks, stepping closer to Myungjun.

“What else? Flowers, and a nice chat with my favourite florist,” he smiles, and even winks, and Jinwoo feels his knees go weak. _Stupid_. Myungjun’s giggle is bubbly, and his grin beams so brightly Jinwoo might have to squint.

Perhaps it’s the way the Autumn sun climbs in through the windows and leaves a strip along the left side of Myungjun’s face. Perhaps, it’s Myungjun’s relaxed posture, after weeks of getting to know each other – finally comfortable. Perhaps Jinwoo just wants to spit it out before Dongmin is there to hear, whilst he’s stepped away to give him the opportunity; but Jinwoo asks Myungjun if he’d like to come to the countryside.

“Forgive me, if this sounds weird,” he proposes, and Myungjun leans back, an eyebrow raised. “But, you once told me you wanted to really explore the countryside – and my home town is outside of the city; if you’d like, I’d love to take you there over Autumn break.” As Jinwoo speaks, he feels a red, hot blush seeping into his face. The older man, atop the counter, grins widely.

“Really?!” He chants, leaping forward and grabbing onto Jinwoo’s forearm, shaking it slightly. “You’d do that for me?” His eyes are wide, shining. Jinwoo wonders just how desperately he’d wanted to visit the countryside, for a reaction this vibrant. Then again, Jinwoo had come to know the vibrant and happily shining Myungjun.

“Yeah, of course,” Jinwoo grins, and Myungjun pulls him into a hug.

He can’t help but analyse Myungjun’s clutch on his body. The way his long fingers curl into fists in Jinwoo’s shirt. His chin hooked over his shoulder, Myungjun’s cheeks poking into his neck from a wide smile. His arms tighten, relax, and tighten again, stuttering breath fanning against his neck.

Despite his crush on the older man, Jinwoo couldn’t help but think this was odd. Maybe he had a closed mind, having grown up in the countryside and thriving there, and he couldn’t understand Myungjun’s cravings for the boring landscapes. Kim Myungjun was quite the melodramatic, however.

“You really like the countryside?” Jinwoo asks, as Myungjun unlatches from Jinwoo’s wide frame. He seems embarrassed, and folds in on himself slightly. The warmth on Jinwoo’s chest that wraps around to his back slowly recedes.

The boy shrugs. “I’m just grateful,” he grins.

In this very moment, Jinwoo takes a snapshot and pins it up in his mind as if on showcase. Myungjun’s beaming and brilliant smile exhibits his pearly white teeth, wrapped gloriously by two pink, plump lips (that Park Jinwoo definitely wants to kiss). The apples of his cheeks are high and rosy, pushing his eyes into crescents. The wrinkles by his eyes and between his eyebrows display the millions of happy memories in Myungjun’s lifetime. The sunlight, through the waving trees outside, dances in fluttering patches over his face.

For a second, Jinwoo wonders if he’d died and gone to heaven.

In the next second, he realises he’s in love.

+

On the first day of Autumn break, Sanha arrives at the shop with a backpack slung over one shoulder, and his head hung over his phone. His thumbs move at rapid speed, and as he hovers by the door, not even bothering to greet Jinwoo, a grin crawls over his features.

“Who’re you texting?”

Sanha looks up, surprised, and a bit pink. “No one,” he answers, tucking his phone into his pocket. Almost immediately, it pings again, and he yanks it back out and continues texting.

Jinwoo has an idea of who it may be... “Minhyuk?”

“Whatever,” the teenager bites back, the visible parts of his face boiling red. Jinwoo chuckles, making Sanha whine. “You told me you gave me his number for a reason! I’m finally using it!” He cried, stamping his foot, childishly.

“No, I’m glad,” the older assures, a little bit jealous. However petty it may sound, Jinwoo _was_ envious that Sanha had gathered the courage to start texting Minhyuk, outside of the time they spend in the group. Jinwoo had yet to pluck up the courage to ask for Myungjun’s phone number.

He makes a note, that next time Myungjun arrives, to ask for his number – they need to organise their road trip. Jinwoo would not be upset, however, if their conversations glide away from the trip to the Autumnal country. A sick, nervous feeling ripples in his stomach – he’d probably chicken out, anyway.

“What’s Minhyuk up too?” Jinwoo asks, curious. He hadn’t seen Minhyuk in a while, either, the poor kid drowning in school work like the rest of them had been, and his part-time work at the children’s Taekwondo studio didn’t make things any easier for the teenager.

“He’s just heading to the studio. It’s his last lesson, and then he’s free all break!” Sanha replies, finally tucking his phone into his bag and sitting down by the counter.

Jinwoo smiles gently, “You two gonna hang out?”

Sanha blushes, fidgeting with his long sleeves for a moment. “Hopefully… We haven’t really hung out without the rest of you before – but I want too,” he smiles, weak, but excited. Perhaps, nervous. The older wonders if they’d already begun planning days to go to the movies; he imagines what a youthful high school love must be like, as he never got one, spending too long trying to ignore his preferences. “What about you and Myungjun?”

“We’re not dating,” he immediately corrects, though the answer makes his heart tug a little further down in his chest.

“Neither are Minhyuk and I,” the teen replies, raising an eyebrow, a suggestive smirk lining his pink lips.

Jinwoo blinks stupidly, feeling a little bit threatened by Sanha’s quick wit. “We will be hanging out, if that’s what you’re asking,” he offers after a moment.

“Wasn’t _exactly_ what I was asking,” the boy grins, hiding his smile behind his long fingers. “But, I’ll take it.”

Jinwoo checks the clock on the back wall, a few hours later, where an unkempt vine stretches around the rim. _4:00_. Sanha was to close on the last hour, and Jinwoo had plans to go home, make a nice dinner for he and Moonbin, possibly Dongmin, read, think about Myungjun, and sleep. However, the plans altered slightly, as he leaves the shop.

As the door gently shuts behind him, he waves to Sanha through the glass door, and heads down the pavement. It’s slightly cracked in places, and little tufts of grass peek out from the splits. Jinwoo takes care in avoiding scuffing them. Turning the corner, he almost runs into a body leaning against the fence.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Jinwoo hurries to apologise as he kicks the man in the foot. He looks up and meets the eyes of Myungjun. “Oh, Myungjun – I’m so sorry,” he says, blushing slightly. The man of Jinwoo’s affections leans against the fence, head rested against the wood, hair fanned out behind him. He looks a bit stressed, uncomfortable, or nervous. “Are you okay?”

Myungjun, upon realising who was before him, snaps into focus. “J-Jinwoo! Hi! Yeah, I’m f-fine,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair, collecting his composure. Even when flustered, Myungjun is beautiful, Jinwoo thinks.

“What are you doing here? Did you need something from the shop?” He asks, ready to turn around, but Myungjun stops him.

“No! No. I was just wondering, uh, whether I should get your number for the road trip. I’d really, really like to go to the countryside, if you couldn’t tell,” he mumbles, sinking his chin beneath his thin scarf.

Feeling a wave of relief flood over him, the younger of the two sighs. The thought that he’d probably never get Myungjun’s number, because of his own damn nerves, had been plaguing him. He was glad Myungjun had brought it up, first. “I’m glad you asked,” he confesses, pulling his phone out of his bag. “I would have been too awkward.”

Myungjun giggles, and pulls out his phone. A little charm with a cartoon dog hangs from the case, and Jinwoo thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. As they swap phones, he runs his fingers over it, and thinks to himself, _That’s such a Myungjun thing_.

As his phone is handed back to him, Jinwoo glances over the name tag, _MJ (* 3*)_. He chuckles, “MJ?”

“You can change your name, too, if you want. We can have nicknames for each other,” Myungjun suggests, and Jinwoo immediately takes his phone in hand, and clears his name. He enters _JinJin (* 3*)_. As the older man glances at the screen upon receiving his phone back, he grins. “It matches.”

“Exactly.” Jinwoo smiles. “Anyway, when are you free? I’m pretty much free all break, so it’s really up to you,” he begins, and the two slowly walk down the path. Where they’re headed, Jinwoo doesn’t know. But, he hopes MJ takes him somewhere nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if you're here for the end notes i thank you so much!  
> i've got a lot of ideas for astro fics and they're probably gonna start popping up between chapters of this fic. so please understand if this fic takes a bit longer to update as of now as i will be writing other stories (and i still have to update for my other fandom shit its been so long)
> 
> please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, and see you soon x


	5. Autumn; Yearning - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the journey begins. Myunngjun is perfect, and Jinwoo can't control his heart much longer.   
> EXCERPT:  
>  _“We can do this,” Myungjun encourages himself, and Jinwoo too, he supposes. The word ‘we’ ignites alarm bells in Jinwoo’s brain, but he quickly silences them with a pinch to his wrist. “Are we almost there?” Myungjun asks, looking up at the blue sky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha. sorry.
> 
> [trying to squeeze as much fluff out as i can before it starts to get a bit sadder. but, you might not like the ending of this chapter :/]  
> pls read ending notes ;)

Written on the back of Myungjun’s receipt, from which he bought seeds of his own, are the plans for the trip to the country side.

_Get rental car. ~~Cheap.~~ ~~SUV~~. I can’t afford that!_

_Pick MJ up at 2:00 (early) (BE CAREFUL OF SMALL CHILDREN!!)_

_Drive for three hours. Book motel. Sleep. ~~Don’t snore.~~ _

_Tour! JinJin’s neighbourhood~ Picnic? OK._

_~~Drive home~~ _ _._

_No! Stay one more night._

“I can’t afford that!” Jinwoo whines, this time aloud.

“But,” Myungjun says, poking Jinwoo with a pencil in his shoulder. “Together, we can.”

Jinwoo smiles gently, and gently places the pencil on the desk. “Sorry I have to pick you up early from work, but if I don’t, we won’t make it in time to book a motel. I hope you won’t get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry! I’ve already checked – it’s fine,” Myungjun assures. He runs a hand through his hair, pouting dramatically, “I’m the perfect student teacher – they must let me take a break sometimes.” He laughs, the sweet sound Jinwoo craves to hear daily. He shuts his eyes for a moment, just listening. Before his friend can notice, he whips his eyes open.

Myungjun’s eyes light up after a moment, struck with an idea, and he dips his head to scrawl an arrow on the back of the receipt and write something else in scribbly handwriting.

_Meet Jinwoo’s mum and dad._

Jinwoo blushes gently. _Were_ they a couple?!

“Sorry,” he chuckles, crossing it out. “My parents don’t live in the countryside anymore.”

Myungjun seems alarmed. “Why?!”

“Some people get bored of the countryside. It’s a better holiday spot, than a place to reside, if I’m honest,” Jinwoo shrugs. “I love that town, but living in the city feels… Freer,” he provides.

The man opposite him rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Freer. Whatever – we’re huddled in by skyscrapers,” he mutters, shaking his head. “All those rolling hills, and little streams, and expanses of fields to run in? Amazing.”

Jinwoo grins. “I’m glad you’re excited,” he says, tucking the receipt in his pocket. Even when the holiday is over, and even if one day, he never sees Myungjun again (he fears this thought), he wants to keep this docket. As a memory, and as an artefact of their two personalities meeting and mingling. As a memory, and as an artefact of the days Jinwoo falls in love for the first time.

+

Moonbin is sprawled over the couch, playing a game on his phone. Jinwoo decides to tell him about the get-away, now. Besides, he confided in Moonbin, and he hadn’t said much about his romantic life as of late. Bin, Jinwoo believes, deserves to know.

“Bin, I’m going back to my hometown for my yearly short trip again, soon,” he says, out of the blue. Bin raises his head from his screen, face painted in a rainbow of colours. The boy hums, accepting the information, before turning his attention back to his phone. “With Myungjun,” Jinwoo clarifies, and this snatches his friend’s attention.

“Why with Myungjun?” Moonbin asks, the sound of his phone shutting off prominent, ringing aloud. He leans forward, staring Jinwoo in the eye. A challenge, a request, and a question; his eyes display all in one.

“He wanted to go to the countryside, he’s never been. I wanted to take him.”

Moonbin sits back, eyes softening, almost wondering. His thoughts seem to branch off, as he glances around the room, and to his phone, before trailing back to Jinwoo. “That’s really nice,” Bin mumbles. “I wish I could do something like that.”

“For who? _Minnie_?” Jinwoo teases, poking Moonbin in the cheek. The boy squeezes his fist, holding it above Jinwoo as if he were about to pound the older boy with it. Instead, he hisses, bringing his hand back to his side. _Another time_ , his eyes say, _I’ll get you_.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

+

Jinwoo parks the rental car in the closest space. Turning off the GPS, he climbs out and peers around his surroundings. The kindergarten is a long slab of brick, painted vibrantly on every wall in pinks and yellows and purples, with flowers and love-hearts and rainbows. Tall trees with winding branches and thick leaves line the play area, scattered with rattles and toy cars, building blocks and skipping ropes. The play frame is bright yellow, and the sandpit has little sandcastles growing in each corner.

Although Myungjun did not design this miniature sanctuary in the middle of the city himself, it seems to suit him perfectly. The place just screams _happiness_. Jinwoo places his bets; it was fate that Myungjun got to work as a student teacher here.

As Jinwoo takes another few steps closer, he comes to the door. On the front door, pictures are stuck in a grid, various baby faces with big grins, and their names underneath. In the far, upper left, it reads ‘Teachers’. Six pictures follow in a long row. Myungjun is fourth down; a big, beautiful grin spread across his face. Jinwoo smiles to himself, opening the door quietly.

Inside, a bag rack stands. Many little backpacks and tiny pairs of shoes stack inside. Jinwoo is almost blown away by the tininess of everything – even the tables and chairs were incredibly small. Posters line the walls, preaching _hands to yourselves_ , and _don’t be a bully, love everyone_. A strange sense of nostalgia washes over him.

This must be the waiting area. Myungjun had told him not to wait in there, or he’d never know Jinwoo had arrived. The door on the far end of the room has a line of purple painted writing _Please, Come in!_ Jinwoo peers through the glass, hands covering the glare around his eyes. His breath catches in his throat at the sight before him.

Myungjun sits in a chair beside a slightly younger looking woman. He holds a large book in his hands, pointing to each picture as he reads. A collection of small children surrounds he and the woman, listening intently. Myungjun looks happy, a mighty grin as evidence. After a moment, he reaches the last page, and the children all clap together.

Then, they begin to sing. Swaying side to side, Myungjun begins to sing for them, and the children join in as they learn the words.

_I’m bringing home a baby bumble bee,_

_Won’t my mummy be so proud of me?_

Myungjun cups his hands, as if her were holding a bee between his palms. The children all follow his actions. Echoing through the door, Jinwoo makes note of how soothing and melodic Myungjun’s voice sounds.

_I’m bringing home a baby bumble bee,_

_Ouch! It stung me!_

Myungjun lets out a dramatic cry, shaking his hand about. The group of kids all laugh, shaking their hands about and laughing at Myungjun’s silliness. He presses a healing kiss to his own hand, grinning.

_I’m squishing up the baby bumble bee,_

_Won’t my mummy be so proud of me?_

Myungjun rolls his hands together, pressing his palms together. The song continues until the end, when Myungjun wipes his hands down on his shirt, and everyone claps together. Jinwoo takes this opportunity to gently rap on the door. MJ lifts his head, peering through the glass. When he spots Jinwoo, a grin even larger splits his features, and he excuses himself to open the door.

“You’re here!” Myungjun says, as the door swings open. Jinwoo can feel dozens of pairs of tiny eyes focused intently on him. He feels a bit awkward.

“Who’s that, Mr. Myungjun?” A little girl asks, her long plaits messy, fallen apart from a long day.

“This is a friend of mine, Mr. Jinwoo,” he smiles. The younger pretends not to feel hurt by the statement.

“By given name, huh?” Jinwoo chuckles, and steps inside. Myungjun just grins at him, and leads him further inside.

“Jinwoo, this is Choi Yoo-Jung. She and I work together on these days,” he smiles, introducing the girl. Her round face was cute, a big grin pressed between two large cheeks. Her hair was long, and a bit curly. She was pretty, and Jinwoo was a bit sour of this fact.

“Hello, nice to meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” she smiles, and bows lightly. Jinwoo does the same, chuckling. _From Myungjun?_ Jinwoo takes note, glancing at the perpetrator, who’s smile remains intact. The children are still watching, their stares burning dozens of holes into his side.

“Everyone, it’s time for Mr. Myungjun to leave,” she turns to the class. The children whine, cries of ‘no’ are heard, and Jinwoo feels a little bit guilty. He didn’t know these kids, but he certainly didn’t want them to dislike him. He wanted quality time with Mr. Myungjun, too.

“I’m sorry, everybody,” Myungjun apologises, crouching down onto his knees. “But, I’ll see you all in two days, after I’ve had a fun time with my friend.” Jinwoo feels two stabs in his heart; one from the sweetness of Myungjun interacting with the children so sweetly, and another from being called a friend again. _Stupid_.

Myungjun waves, and goes to stand, when a child calls, “You have to sing the goodbye song before you go!”

The man glances up at Jinwoo, apologetically, and Jinwoo simply smiles back. It’s okay. This is nice.

Myungjun turns back to the group, “Okay, let’s go.” The group rearrange themselves in a circle, and hold each other’s hands. Once again, Jinwoo can’t help but feel entranced by Myungjun’s singing, even if it’s just a song for children, his voice is of perfect melody.

As Myungjun stands to leave, he waves, and leads Jinwoo out. “Sorry for the wait,” Myungjun is quick to apologise, grabbing his bags from the small staffroom and heading out to the carpark.

“It’s okay – really,” Jinwoo replies, unlocking the rental car. “It was cute,” he smiles, and Myungjun grins back.

+

Jinwoo had feared the drive there, a three-hour long stretch of grey road ahead and behind them. He’d feared an awkward silence; however, it never fell upon them.

As they turn away from the kindergarten, Jinwoo watches as Myungjun’s eyes follow the windows, staring as the colourful block slides away. He turns to Jinwoo, pulling out his phone, “Can I put some music on?” He asks, and for most of the drive, they scream the lyrics to their favourite classic songs together, between long conversations about everything and nothing.

The city starts to fade away into suburbia, grids of homes large and small, before the houses are spread out further, and further, until there are none at all. As they pull away from the city and slide deeper into the landscape, Myungjun’s grin shifts from beaming to blinding. Jinwoo’s heart feels like it’s been dipped in honey – drowning in the sickly sweetness, unable to resurface.

When they arrive, Jinwoo leads Myungjun inside the motel lobby, a small, dark room with yellow lighting. It isn’t exactly appealing, but it will certainly do. As Jinwoo heads up to the counter, a woman behind the desk smiles. Her face is old, cheeks folded over and small nose a little bud in the centre of her face. “Jinwoo, it’s nice to see you again,” she greets.

Jinwoo knew her well. He knew her before her children had left her, and before the bags beneath her eyes had gotten darker. Even so, she was still a bubbly woman. Jinwoo admired her. He grins, “I brought a friend with me,” he greets, and gestures to Myungjun, who waves gently. “This is Myungjun, who wanted to see the countryside.”

“Hello, Myungjun,” she waves back, “I hope you like it out here,” she says, and hands Jinwoo a key.

Jinwoo glances down at the key in his palm. He’d held this very key many times before; he’d always been given the same room – the one that faced the stream and had a window that let the moonlight drift in. But, this room only had one bed. A double, sure, but he isn’t quite sure how comfortable Myungjun would be with that.

He chuckles awkwardly, and the old woman seems to notice the dilemma. “I can bring in another mattress if you want? Or you can have a different room?”

Glancing behind him at Myungjun, Jinwoo watches the man assess the situation. “I’ll be fine, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Myungjun smiles gently, a rosy pink blush on the end of his nose and over the apples of his cheeks. “We’re friends, right?”

And Jinwoo just smiles, because _of course they are_. “No, thank you. See you tomorrow,” he calls to the woman, and they step out to collect their luggage. Myungjun is quiet as they make their way across the carpark. “You sure you’re okay about that?” Jinwoo asks gently, when the trunk is open.

The older man glances over at him, lips pursed. His eyebrows furrow slightly, “Are you?” Jinwoo nods, slowly. He wonders, when the time comes, if it will be hard to keep his hands to himself. _What a vulgar thought_ , he reckons. “I don’t snore, you know,” Myungjun giggles, and waits for Jinwoo to lead him away.

+

“I told you it was a bit of a walk, but I promise it’s worth it,” Jinwoo says, as they climb up a small hill, side by side. Myungjun is panting, sweat lining his forehead. His scarf and coat lay discarded in Jinwoo’s arms, along with the picnic basket he’d originally insisted on carrying, and his face is boiling red. Somehow, despite this, he still spares Jinwoo that same, vibrant grin.

“We can do this,” Myungjun encourages himself, and Jinwoo too, he supposes. The word ‘we’ ignites alarm bells in Jinwoo’s brain, but he quickly silences them with a pinch to his wrist. “Are we almost there?” Myungjun asks, looking up at the blue sky.

Jinwoo spies a break in the trees. “We _are_ here,” he smiles, and Myungjun laughs softly, relieved, his grin splitting the lower half of his face. His laugh is short and breathy, a tired, but happy sound.

Atop the hill is nothing. To Jinwoo, at least. But, as he pulls Myungjun up to the top, exhausting what he assumed was the last ounce of energy in poor Myungjun’s body, the boy springs back into action. From his mouth splutters a sound of shock, mixed with awe, mixed with disbelief.

Long grass, knee height, rolls over itself in waves that change colour as the wind and lowering sun mingle above. Flowers, still alive from the summer, though slightly droopy, smatter colour over the field. Myungjun, as bright as the sun, seems to bring them back to health as he dances in the grass, leaping over the grass and spinning round and round. Jinwoo’s heart follows, taking leaps and bounds outwards as if reaching out for the boy two years his senior, flipping in his chest.

It isn’t long before Myungjun has crash landed, on his back, staring up at the clouds. Jinwoo hovers over him, tracing the outline of the man’s star-fish shape and engraving it into his memory. He huffs below Jinwoo, chest rising and falling. He shifts his gaze from the clouds, and to the face above him. Myungjun’s face breaks into an Earth-shattering grin, so wide that his eyes sink into his face behind happiness-wrinkles and dimples Jinwoo isn’t sure had existed before hand dig into his cheeks.

And, _fuck_ , Jinwoo thinks. _Have I ever been so in love?_

Myungjun pats the grass beside him, flattening it down for Jinwoo. Carefully, cautiously, Jinwoo lowers himself to the ground, letting the familiar scent of his youthful days engulf him. He lays like a pin beside Myungjun, who takes as much space as his small body can stretch. “I know it’s supposed to be about creativity,” Myungjun says once the younger has gotten comfortable. “But, I can never see shapes in the clouds. They’re just clouds,” he says, and turns to Jinwoo, awaiting his opinion.

Jinwoo hums, “I see where you’re coming from – but you really have to try. Aren’t you a kindergarten teacher? You’re supposed to _encourage_ creativity,” he argues, poking Myungjun in the side. The older man recoils slightly, giggling.

“Well, how am I supposed to do it? Show me.” He turns his head completely, letting it loll over, so some shorter blades of grass poke over the side of his round cheeks. His eyes hold a challenge, a sparkling of mystery and determination mingling in his gaze.

Jinwoo extends a finger into the clouds, pointing to an oblong, fluffy white cloud. The bottom curves outwards in a U-Shape. “There.” He says, and takes Myungjun’s index finger and points it into the sky. “An anchor. Now, you go from there. What else do you see?” He asks, and watches as Myungjun’s gaze trails up his arm and over into the endless blue above them. He squints a moment, eyes focusing and forehead creasing with concentration. _Every face he makes, is stunning._

“I see…” He begins. “Fish,” his finger rotates in a circle, pointing out the small flecks of cloud that had broken away from bigger ones. “A shark! And, seaweed!” He yelps, using his fingers as demonstration, gesturing wildly.

Jinwoo smiles softly. “See that big cloud above the anchor?” He asks, and Myungjun hums. “That’s a ship, connected to the anchor.”

Myungjun finally decides to play along, “Ahh, where do you think they’re going, Jinwoo?”

“Somewhere happy.”

Myungjun chuckles. “I think they’ve arrived, then, JinJin,” he says, and his sparkling eyes glisten.

Jinwoo replays that moment, over and over and over again, in the silence that follows. As the sun sets lower in the sky, falling, it casts a yellow glow over Myungjun’s golden skin. Angelic, and holy, and pure, is how he looks – it’s as if the moment goes in slow motion, his head tipping back into the grass as he laughs. He highlights the man’s light chuckle, a sound so pure and easy that it glides through Jinwoo’s body like an ocean’s wave; refreshing. His eyes hold his sentence, the one that insinuates this place is a happy one.

For a long moment, Jinwoo finds solace in Myungjun’s gaze. Soon after, it turns sour with the taste of unrequited love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops forgot to write oneshots but dont worry im getting there kekeke  
> stay tuned my lovelies~~~ i really love this fic.


	6. Autumn; Yearning - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myungjun witnesses two surprises. Jinwoo confesses, and Myungjun is stoic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was supposed to be just a filler to remind you all im still here but it turned into something more. i hope you like it. PLEASE READ THE END NOTES THEYRE SUPER IMPORTANT THIS TIME

“I thought we were having the picnic tomorrow?” Myungjun asked as he unfolded the blanket, waving it out and letting it flap in the breeze before settling it on the grass.

“I figured now would be a better time,” Jinwoo replied, smiling. “I didn’t exactly know what you liked so I made a range of sandwiches and bought a bunch of cookies,” he says, and opens the wicker basket for Myungjun. The man peers inside, and a grin crawls over his features, wide and joyous.

“You’re so thoughtful,” he mutters, cheeks red, and dives his hand inside and pulls out a sandwich. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat practically anything.” With this, he takes a large bite into the bread and hums, “’S good,” through a mouthful of food.

“I’m glad.”

In the silence, the light haired man glances once again at their surroundings. From this hill, he can see a lot of the town. A valley hugged by mountains, with a few blocks in a grid, dotted with leaves turned orange and red. Jinwoo points out his old high school, his primary school, the main street, and the stream he’d play in as a child. Myungjun’s eyes are sparkling as he hears tales of Jinwoo’s past, as if he were opening the secrets to all that Jinwoo was.

“So, why this place? Why did you bring me here first?” He asks, eyebrows raised. In his hand is a plastic cup filled with water – _It’s too early for alcohol, Jinwoo_ , he’d reminded the younger boy.

This hill was Jinwoo’s safe place when he was a young teen; he often retreated here, the back end of an abandoned farm his father’s friend once owned. From the top of this hill, he would overlook his town and watch as the townspeople scurried around, the size of ants from here. As the sun would set over the mountains, it would smear out colours of pink and orange and fall into a pattern like a European Renaissance painting. When the sun completely disappeared, the stars would pop, one by one, into Jinwoo’s sky.

When laying in the tall green field, surrounded by the smell of sunlight-filtered grass and staring into the endless abyss of space, Jinwoo dreamed. Of happiness, perhaps – a small house in the city, with a boy who loved him as much as Jinwoo knew he himself could love someday. That wasn’t what he imagined he could have, here. He didn’t think he could ever have such a life, living in this old country town.

Though, something about the stars called out for him; teasing him. They twinkled above and pulled him in, telling him to keep hope. He would speak to the brightest one, sometimes, when he got over his humiliation, despite being alone. _I had an okay day, today_ he would mutter, staring up into its blinking eye. _Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t this way_ he would say, and do nothing to stop the tears that dribbled down his cheeks.

He’s grown up since then. He’s matured. But, he still talks to the stars, feels a sense of refuge within them. Someone had once told him that the stars were the souls of people long dead. Maybe, just maybe, they listened to him. Maybe, they were the ones who gave him hope.

However, he doesn’t tell Myungjun this. Instead, he turns to that still, inquisitive yet content face, and mutters, “This was my favourite place in the world when I was a teenager. When things got rough, I came up here to look at the stars.”

Myungjun’s eyes widen for a moment, top lip rested over the rim of the cup. “You can see the stars?”

For a moment, Jinwoo is taken aback by the question. As he scans Myungjun’s face, he identifies no trace of sarcasm, his features pulled open in shock. He supposes the night sky must be a mystery to the man, who’d lived in the city his whole life – who’d only seen the same ten or so stars every night. The lights were too bright in the city; the night sky was definitely something Jinwoo missed when he moved.

“Of course,” he replied, gently. He takes a candy from the bag in the picnic basket, popping it in between his lips. Around the green chewy, he muttered, “Just wait, Myungjun. It’s amazing.”

+

Myungjun’s first shock begins once the sun falls behind the tallest mountain.

The sun leaves behind long streaks of pink and yellow, dying the sky rainbow until behind them, where the dark purple began creeping over. The boy two years Jinwoo’s senior is bathed in the babyish colours, covering every inch of his visible skin and reflecting off his light hair. He gasps, and giggles, and pulls out his phone to take dozens of photos and selfies under the light. Jinwoo watches Myungjun run through pink-stained grass, snapping pictures of everything, and even of Jinwoo’s silhouette.

“I’ve only ever seen the sunset reflected off skyscrapers, and the ocean once or twice,” the man says, glancing briefly at Jinwoo. His plump lips stretch around his grin, a smile so large it’s radiating. Eventually, he settles back to Jinwoo’s side, curling his arms around his legs. His eyes are distant, wistful, when he stares at Jinwoo, now. “Thank you, Jinwoo – I’m really so grateful.”

Myungjun’s second shock approaches slowly. As the ivory colour bleeds into the sky above, the stars appear one by one. He attempts to count them as they appear; _one, two, three, oh, six more – wait, no how many is that, now?_

For the first time in his life, Jinwoo found peace in something besides the stars. Myungjun, _under_ the stars.

His skin is bathed, now, in pale moonlight, leaving both a spooky and stunning glow on his body. His long fingers clutch his coat tighter around himself, and his smile politely declines Jinwoo’s jacket. The stars dance in Myungjun’s wide, lash framed eyes, twinkling lights reflected in his gaze. He’s totally, completely astonished. Mouth agape, breathless; a look of intense solace gracing his features.

His head whips around, back and forth, hair bouncing slightly as he gets a glimpse at the stars from different angles. Then, he looks at Jinwoo, who tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring at the man – and then, he cried.

Big, rolling tears over the roundness of his cheeks, collecting under his chin and dripping onto his lap. He brings his hands up to his face, shaky fingers hiding his suddenly wrecked appearance – Jinwoo wonders if he’s shaky from the cool air, or something else, perhaps? He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Myungjun. Yet, Jinwoo understands.

He crawls closer, and wraps his arms around the man, who cries quietly into his shoulder. “This isn’t weird, is it?” Myungjun asks from the crook of Jinwoo’s shoulder. Patting his hair down, Jinwoo shakes his head. “It’s so pretty… I wish I was there,” he confesses, curling himself into a ball.

“I know.”

“You do?”

Jinwoo nods, but he doesn’t pull Myungjun away. Instead, he holds him tighter as he speaks. “When I was a teenager, I came up here, and I spoke to the stars – which is totally stupid, but I had no one else to talk too. It was so hard, Myungjun, it was very hard for me. I lived every day, knowing I was so different, and worried that no one would ever love me, you know?

“I told the star – that one – about the boy I loved,” at this, Myungjun shifts slightly. “How I wanted to move to the city, to live freely, and to love freely. And the stars, though they couldn’t speak, I always felt like they were telling me to stay put. To stay alive. I feel like they gave me hope.

“I know it sounds stupid – please don’t tell me that it’s silly, because I know. But, it’s what kept me alive, Myungjun. I’m so grateful to them.”

Myungjun sits up, “It’s not _stupid_ , but it is a bit silly,” he says softly, and glances over his shoulder at Jinwoo. He can’t help but giggle at this. Myungjun casts his gaze downward, next, fiddling with his fingers. “Y-You said ‘boy’?” He looks back up, meeting Jinwoo’s eyes.

Myungjun’s gaze is piercing, sharp and poignant. Questioning, but not interrogating. Jinwoo stares back, “I did.”

Myungjun nods, and turns further towards him, though he looks back up at the stars. “I’m glad you talked to the stars. They let me talk to you,” he mutters, and finally, lies back on the blanket.

Before Jinwoo follows, he thinks to himself, _they led me to you_. The moon is a crescent in the sky, cutting a slit into the abyss like a fingernail piercing skin. It’s reflected in Myungjun’s eyes, those bright eyes Jinwoo could stare in forever; but perhaps the pale light casts a dull effect – something in Myungjun’s eyes looks sad, almost lost, almost _desperate_.

+

When the two reach the motel again, Myungjun escapes to the bathroom to change into his pyjamas. Upon return, he slides into the bed, keeping one side open for Jinwoo, who gently lay beside him.

The dip in the mattress beside Jinwoo feels foreign. Not despised or unnatural, simply unfamiliar. He can’t sleep. The moonlight tumbles into the room, four squares cut in the shape of the window, and fall perfectly on Myungjun, illuminating his face.

His cheek is squashed upwards, over the pillow. Lips fallen open slightly, his chest rising and falling, Jinwoo knows he’s still alive, even in this dead of night. His fingers twitch, as if he’s dreaming, briefly clutching at the sheets.

It takes every ounce of willpower within Jinwoo to not wrap his arms around the boy. To hold back from running his fingers along Myungjun’s soft skin, or run his fingers through his hair. To press kisses to his cheeks, his slightly exposed chest, and stomach. Guilt is a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach, in the tips of his fingers, and in the back of his brain.

Jinwoo turns away, and wonders what Myungjun really thought of his confession under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I KNOW WHY DID MJ START CRYING HOW WEIRD IS THAT - DONT WORRY ALL WILL BE EXPLAINED LATER. YOU WILL UNDERSTAND LATER I PINKY PROMISE
> 
> i hoep you enjoyed :)))


	7. Autumn; Yearning - Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place, and I can picture it, after all these days (and I know it's long gone, and that magic's not here no more, and it might be okay, but I'm not fine at all)."_  
>  Make a wish, on Autumn leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah the lyric in that chapter summary is from a really pretty taylor swift song which has 100% nothing to do with this chapter i just liked the notation toward magic as that sorta fits this chapter well?? youll see what i mean. and i know that lyric is set in the future and reminiscing on the past... but hey... you don't know what is gonna happen so... hey
> 
> (also sorry for the long wait. ive been exceptionally busy and found a two hours to write yesterday!! so i typed this all up and a bit more. probably wont be another chapter for about two weeks (when i go on break) but please be patient bc i promise its about to get SAD)

As Jinwoo rises, the sharp smack of Autumn sun prickles against his skin. Rolling over, his eyes fall upon Myungjun. He’s still asleep, just barely, his breaths becoming lighter and eye lids fluttering. The orange sun makes him glow a golden colour, shining in the messy bed-head strands above his forehead. He’s angelic, almost flawless, as the morning light stains the sheets surrounding them.

Jinwoo can’t help but stare at the older boy, consumed in all that he is behind foggy, fatigued thoughts. For a moment, he feels like he’s floating, just the two of them atop a wide, rippling ocean. If he thought hard enough, he could imagine the sheets turn to water, and pull him under. All too soon, Myungjun lets out a small groan and his eyes flutter open.

Jinwoo gasps, slamming his eyes shut, as if he hadn’t been staring at him. Myungjun shuffles slightly, “Good morning, Jinwoo,” he mutters, voice deep and croaky – husky – from a long night of comfortable rest. “I know you’re awake, silly,” he says, and taps Jinwoo’s forehead. With this, the younger boy let’s his eyes flutter open, and their gazes meet.

“Good morning, MJ,” Jinwoo replies, smiling softly. “Are you ready for our day today?” He asks, and pulls himself to sit up.

“Ready?” Myungjun asks, and to Jinwoo’s dismay, rolling out of the patch of angelic sunlight. “I’m _excited_ ,” he laughs, and steps into the bathroom.

+

Myungjun is tucked into a big coat, and wrapped under a scarf. His fingers poke out from beneath the sleeves, his appearance cute and petite. His steps are short, but quick, a little skip in each pace forward. Jinwoo wants to reach out, grasp one of those soft hands hidden behind the sleeves of his sweater, but he refrains.

Jinwoo leads him down the street, over the empty black roads lined with orange trees. The entire time, Myungjun is smiling, humming to himself and chatting with Jinwoo. He takes big breaths, muttering something about fresh air. Jinwoo listens, not contributing a lot to the conversation, simply content to listen to Myungjun’s mind pour words from his mouth.

Their first stop is the river. A wide, babbling stream that splits the town into two halves, connected with a bridge. A few people cross the bridge, and Myungjun seems surprised, as they stand at the tallest point of the short arc. “I thought there weren’t many people in country towns?” He asks, confused.

“There’s about two thousand residents, but it’s quite the tourist town,” Jinwoo provides, and offers his hand out. “Would you like me to take a photo of you?” He smiles, and Myungjun nods, grinning. He hands his phone over, and as Jinwoo holds it up, he poses, arms above his head in the shape of a squashed love heart.

As Jinwoo lowers the camera after taking a shot or two, Myungjun takes a small step forward. His eyes are shifting, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Take a picture with me?” He asks, quickly.

Jinwoo nods, saying something along the lines of ‘ _Of course!’_ and stepping into Myungjun’s side. The man grins, bouncing on his toes as he opens up an app and holds the camera above their heads. He presses a small, cartoonish picture of a cat with glasses, and the filter is reflected on their faces on screen.

Jinwoo smirks, holding his fingers up in a peace sign beside his eyes. Myungjun takes snap after snap, changing his expression in every single click of the capture. Jinwoo can’t help but stare at Myungjun’s reflection, face formation a bit rounder and pinker. _Cute_.

“Thank you,” the light-haired man grins.

On the way to the park, they pass Jinwoo’s high school. Every time Jinwoo returns, he makes note to pass by the school. If the students are in, he’ll go in to say hello to his old teachers. Whilst his happiest memories are the webbing connection between he and his friends, and his teenage years were an era of black and blue – this high school is a huge part of he and his history.

Myungjun peers over the short fence at the school, eyebrow raising slightly. It crinkles up the left side of his forehead, and Jinwoo _almost_ reaches across to smooth them out with the tips of his fingers. “It’s quite small,” is all he says, eyeing the building suspiciously.

“How big was your school?” Jinwoo asks, intrigued. He had thought his school was quite big – in fact, it was the biggest for another two-hour drive in all directions.

Myungjun scoffs, “Probably three or four times this size, unless you’ve got a bit hiding somewhere,” he says, squinting. “How many students?”

Jinwoo shrugs, scanning the school. He didn’t really have many friends, just one boy he had a crush on, no matter how hard he tried to tamp down the feelings. He’d sit, for lunch, on the lone table outside the library, big headphones around his neck and tuned into his own little world. A sad time, but one that shaped Jinwoo, significantly, he likes to believe. “Maybe 500?”

The older boy gasps, jaw falling open. “That’s crazy! I had, like, 2000 more than that at my high school!” He exclaims, head physically spinning slightly.

“How… How does that even happen?” Jinwoo asks, but Myungjun doesn’t answer, too distracted by a little patch of greenery in the far corner of the school grounds. He asks what it is, large orange bulbs sprouting from the centre, and small saplings, and a little shed. “Oh, that’s where the agricultural lessons were held.”

“The what?”

Myungjun’s eyes, though swallowed up by confusion, sparkle with interest. “It’s kind of like a lesson on the science of farming,” Jinwoo answers, and the boy beside him seems impressed. Jinwoo, himself, had always found the lesson a messy waste of time. “You and I come from very different worlds, MJ,” he says, tugging his coat tighter across his chest as a cool breeze shivers past them.

The brunet smiles, lips curling up around his pearly white teeth. His eyes go distant for a moment, glazing over with something Jinwoo can’t place a finger on. Almost like longing, it seemed. Myungjun’s hand rests over one of Jinwoo’s tucked into the other, touch so light Jinwoo wouldn’t have noticed had he not recorded every move the man made. “And, we meet in a third,” he mutters, eyes twinkling.

Jinwoo prays that this third world that Myungjun believes in, was made solely for them.

+

The park was a large block of land just right of the centre of town. In the middle was a playground for children, a climbing frame, a slide, and a pastel jungle of ropes and swing sets. Skirted by chairs, parents sit and watch their children run wild, soaking up their years of innocence without knowing it will fall between their little fingers all too soon. The rest of the field is green space, dotted with tall, thick trees that are coated in orange and yellow leaves. The grass is sprinkled with dozens of brown, star shaped leaves, and couples and groups of friends settle themselves along the tall piles of raked Autumn fallings.

Myungjun immediately dashes into the park, running along the cold, crunching grass. His giggles, a sound Jinwoo had heard so much of lately, but could never get sick of, followed him in the circles he traced as his path. He calls out for Jinwoo, something along the lines of _catch me if you can, JinJin-Slowpoke!_

Jinwoo was never one to hand over a challenge. He sprints after the boy, chasing him down the paths, and between the trees. He found himself not caring who saw him, or what they thought. He was, in its purest form, happy.

Myungjun slows down quite quickly, breaths heavy and long. His giggles fade out into exhausted huffs, but he carries on until Jinwoo clutches at the back of his coat. He thinks he’s got a hold on the older boy, finally, until they both begin to fall. The blades of grass beneath their feet coming closer and closer, as they tumble to the ground in each other’s grasp.

To his shame and only mild dismay, Jinwoo falls directly atop the brunet, chests pressed together and breaths mingling. If he were honest, once his thoughts had cleared up a bit much later on, he’d wish the first time they’d held each other so close was not in such a moment; instead, he longed for something more intimate. Now, however, he’s a dumbfounded, blubbering mess, unsure of how exactly to apologise.

“Ah – Uhm, sor-sorry, M-Myun-J!!” He stutters, attempting to roll away from him. He’d already told Myungjun that he was gay, he didn’t need the poor boy to know he was in love with him, too. Face red, he secures it behind his hands.

To his surprise, Myungjun simply laughs. Big, bursting sounds like fireworks, fizzling out in sparkles. Jinwoo decides that Myungjun must counteract his immensely powerful skill of making any uncomfortable situation really awkward, as the older boy simply shimmies him off his warm chest and back onto the ground, beside him.

Briefly, he wonders if Myungjun remembers crying last night. Perhaps the sleep overnight had sobered him up from his sudden change in character. Perhaps, he was repressing it.

“I told you to _catch_ me, not attack me,” the older man giggles, and moves over so their sides touch. The uncomfortable air Jinwoo had momentarily suffocated in seems to lift, and so do his spirits.

Once again, they find themselves staring up at the clouds. Though, on this autumnal day, the sky is a long grey slate, without a single divot or bump. The trees above them stretch long, winding tendrils out like veins bleeding into the sky, leaves whistling in the breeze. The silence that falls upon the pair is like a blanket – comfortable, secure.

Jinwoo can feel the warmth of Myungjun’s body radiating, heating up his side that connects with him. His hand itches in its place, asking to be held within Myungjun’s touch. Jinwoo scolds this urge, curling his fist in on itself and pressing his nails into his palm hard enough until he fears he’ll break the skin.

As they lay side by side in silence, Jinwoo let’s all that Myungjun is, every flaw and every perfection in its entirety, tied together and tight like a knot, seep into his chest. He decides, now, that a day without Myungjun is a day wasted. A lifetime without Myungjun, an empty one.

Eventually, Myungjun sits up. His back is coated in crumbled, dead leaves and specks of dirt. Before the boy gets up, Jinwoo is sure to wipe his palm over the ripples of his spine, dusting off his jacket. When Myungjun stands, a strong breeze pulls through the park and through Myungjun’s hair, pushing it off his face a little.

Carried by the breeze, are a few star shaped leaves, orange and red and dying. Myungjun reaches out to grab one, and misses as it falls over the edge of his fingers and drifts onto the grass. He pouts, disappointed, and Jinwoo can’t help but ask, “What are you doing?”

The cute pout instantly drops from his lips, instead replaced with a cheeky grin. “Making a wish, of course,” he said, as if it was obvious. Again, he leaps after a falling leaf, though it’s too fast for him, and is blown in the opposite direction. He must spy Jinwoo’s confused look, and elaborates. “When I was a kid, my mother told me that if you catch an Autumn leaf and hold it against your heart, you have to make a wish.

“It has to be a good wish, one that benefits not only you, but others, too. If it’s a selfish wish, only bad will come to you. Then, you let it go and wait until it hits the ground, and your wish will be granted. If it doesn’t hit the ground, and gets carried away by the breeze, then your wish won’t come true,” he says, and picks one up off the ground. “But, you can always try again,” he grins, childish features apparent and beaming.

Jinwoo smiles softly, fondly. If he could pause this moment forever, he would snatch up the opportunity with greedy fists. Myungjun is shining, a beacon of happiness. Jinwoo watches him carefully, collecting notes on Myungjun in his subconscious, categorising him by warm colours and fluttering feelings in his chest.

“Your mum sounds nice,” Jinwoo comments as the older boy dashes after a collection of wind drawn leaves. Unsuccessful, he returns to the spot beside Jinwoo’s ankles and tries again.

Myungjun stills a moment. “She’s nice,” he smiles, lopsided and tight. “I love her.” As he says this, his arm stretches above his head, and he finally catches an Autumn leaf between his fingers. He cheers, clutching it against his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Jinwoo watches his lips move around words unspoken, before letting the leaf fall from his grasp. “Watch it for me, tell me if it reaches the ground,” he says hurriedly, and the younger tears his eyes away from his face to watch the leaf nosedive and tumble into the grass.

He glances back up at Myungjun, whose hopeful eyes glimmer in waiting. Jinwoo simply nods, and the older boy bursts into a cheer. Myungjun had a strange effect on Jinwoo – no matter how he felt, however lonely or distraught, the thought of Myungjun alone brought a contagious happiness with it. Like daisies in a wide green field, spreading its beauty with force into every corner it can, until it’s swallowed up the grass with a yellow glow.

If _he’d_ caught the Autumn leaf, he would have wished for Spring. Spring brought the flowers, and the flowers brought Myungjun. An eternal Spring, perhaps, with Myungjun by his side.

He wonders what Myungjun wished for. Wonders what secret whims lay deep behind those chocolate coloured eyes. Wonders if, possibly, Myungjun wished for something he could never have – like Jinwoo would have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm... what did mj wish for?? kekeke :p  
> also hmu on tumblr @sanhachan  
> this was supposed to be an anonymous writing account but hey who cares anymore


	8. Autumn; Yearning - Part Four (and an extra half)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Autumn draws to a close._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A VERY VERY SMALL CHAPTER TO REMIND YOU THAT THIS STORY EXISTS AND TO CLOSE THE AUTUMN ERA.  
> i hope you enjoy, and please read the end notes to see how im doing lolol

They find themselves across from each other, sat in a small booth of a café, next to the window onto the main street. This café, Jinwoo tells, he’d sit in to do homework after school, at this very booth. Myungjun grins at this, clutching his hot chocolate in his cold palms. The older boy guesses the stories behind the few people that walk by – if Jinwoo knows the person, he’ll tell Myungjun how close his guess was, and if he doesn’t, he adds to the fictional tale.

_-I reckon… She had a dream of moving to America to become an actress, but she had a kid too early and didn’t have enough money to move away._

_-No, she just likes to crochet. She owns a little crocheting store, too._

During their lunch break in the small café, Jinwoo learns a lot about Myungjun. Less about the facts of his being, like his birthday and favourite colour. No, more about the little actions he performs, the way he thinks, and what makes him shine brightest.

Myungjun’s fingers tap against the side of his paper cup or along the table when he thinks of something to say. Jinwoo watches the cogs turn in his head, eyes shining as he scours through endless topics stored in that crazy, joyful mind of his. When Myungjun laughs, his shoulders bob and his hair sways slightly, and his eyes fold into thin creases upturned like the moon the previous night. He takes a long moment to answer when asked a question, making sure he answers in the best way possible. He spreads his happiness like a disease, suddenly approaching and contagious.

Jinwoo feels like he’s in a dream, a vivid one that he’ll be sure to remember every detail of when he wakes up. Every twitch of Myungjun’s smirk, every point where their skin meets. The shifting pitch of the man’s voice, the warm feeling encompassing Jinwoo’s heart. He engraves every moment into his memory, a section lined out in corner of his mind for a rainy day.

After a while, a long silence falls between them. Jinwoo finds it comfortable, having exhausted many topics of conversation and simply enjoying each other’s company, now. However, it seemed that Myungjun thought differently. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes searching Jinwoo’s face for something that hadn’t appeared. Jinwoo pretends not to notice, watching pedestrians pass instead. Myungjun goes to say something, one half of a syllable cracking out of his throat before his lips slam shut.

Jinwoo tears his gaze away, turning to glance at the man; Myungjun’s usually upward-turned face appears empty and sullen. “You okay?” Jinwoo asks, hand subconsciously falling between them. The elder’s gaze falls on it, and Jinwoo slowly retracts it, suddenly self-conscious. Myungjun lets a smile tug at his lips, and nods gently.

“Just… Thinking,” he responded, taking a sip of his drink.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Myungjun shakes his head, and offers Jinwoo a bright smile. Though bright and broad, the smile cracks somewhere along the edges. Jinwoo is terribly confused, but decides to let it go. The lingering feeling of guilt hangs low in his belly and in the tips of his fingers. For the first time since they’d met, Myungjun closes himself off.

For the rest of the day, Myungjun dances along this wavering, fragile line; sometimes beaming and bright, other times solemn and silent. Jinwoo is unsure of what to do. Part of him wants to reach out and grab his hand, squeeze it and remind him _I’m right here_ , but he reckons Myungjun wouldn’t like that all too much.

Perhaps, Jinwoo thought, he was sad to leave the pretty countryside after only one day of exploring. Though, as they retreat back to the car, and Myungjun waves his hand out the window, _goodbye_ , he seems content.

The sun sets the same as it had the afternoon before the stars twinkled in Myungjun’s eyes. Myungjun rolls the window down and perches his chin on the sill, letting the wind push through his hair and dance over his face. He watches the smattering of clouds in the pink and blue sky as the suburbia grows thicker, until the night is a blanket of darkness over the city.

Myungjun lives on a little street lined with apartment blocks. Before he steps out of the car and returns into his apartment, he turns to Jinwoo. “Thank you for this trip, Jinwoo. I had a great time.” His smile is genuine, this time, a pretty fixture on his face. Jinwoo is glad to see it again, if only briefly.

“Anytime,” Jinwoo smiles, and watches Myungjun’s face carefully, in case his emotion flickers. Myungjun undoes his seatbelt, and lets it slide back, taking his time to exit the car. “I’ll see you around, MJ, yeah?”

He opens the door handle. “Of course.”

+

Autumn draws to a close.

The last orange leaves don’t dance to the ground, instead lifelessly drift through the crisp breeze before fading into the dirt. Jinwoo doesn’t see Myungjun again, not while the trees are red, and not as they turn into grey, twisting skeletons. The smile that once warmed Jinwoo’s heart stains it, now, a grim and heavy reminder of what he believes once was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i didnt make you too sad :')  
> winter is just around the corner!!! im getting so much support from you guys and its warming me in my heart so so much. i feel really ahppy reading and replying to all your comments <3  
> so i know i said in the last chapter that it would probably be two weeks before i uploaded or more - was it last chapter?? i cant remember its been a long few days!! im in the midst of my mid-semester shit storm of assignments AND IVE FALLEN ILL. aggh~~ 
> 
> so yes. this chapter was very short but its intention was to close autumn and to remind you that this story exists and im still here. there probably wont be a new chapter for another week or two, bc i want to it be a full size one this time around kekeke. i hit my easter 2 week break then. i have many other ideas that i hope to write, too. and i hope you like them :)
> 
> pls get excited for winter. summer was the beginning, autumn was filled with yearning, i hope you're waiting to know winters leading theme...


	9. Winter; Loss - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinwoo falls into seasonal depression. Maybe, perhaps, what if - talking about it heals him?  
>  _Jinwoo feels the tears fight against him, slipping silently over the bags beneath his eyes and down his cheeks. “It was so hard, Min. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t do it – I-I just kept comparing everything about him to Myungjun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who finished 99% of her assessment yes its this gal im almost free the next three weeks (a few days dedicated to holiday school work tho and catch-ups with friends but hush hush)  
> i hope you like this chapter?? youd think id be better at writng depressing thigns lolol pls read end notes 4 me (im typing like this bc its almost midnight and im so exahsuted)

The snow doesn’t fall for a long while. For the first month of winter, glittering flecks of could-be snow flutter above the city, but as they fall to the earth, melt into the cracks in the pavement.

The florist’s is cold, and the water from snow melted too early leaks in through miniscule cracks in the ceiling. Throughout the day, the sun casts a grey glow through the window and casts speckled shadows along the walls. Whenever the door opens, a cold draft is pulled through and Jinwoo hugs his coat tighter around himself. It’s hard to tend to the flowers in Winter. Though they bloom with a bit more effort, everything feels dead, and grey, and sad.

Moonbin spares him a gentle smile whenever he arrives home. He always has dinner prepared, and when Dongmin is over, they go out for a meal at a restaurant. Sanha comes in to work, even though he doesn’t have too – Jinwoo snatches up as many shifts as he can, working all day – just to keep him company. Minhyuk follows sometimes, trailing after Sanha despite being older than the boy.

His mother had joked about seasonal depression as the days got shorter. Her voice crackling over the phone, giddy as ever; it felt like a tease. _You know, Jinwoo,_ she says, and he can hear the smile spreading her lips, _Winter always makes people sad. Don’t let it happen to you, alright?_ She finishes on a more serious note, wishes him happiness and a good farewell, and hangs up.

To just anyone, Jinwoo’s change in behaviour could have been viewed as an extreme case of _seasonal depression_. Perhaps it was – the lack of sunshine in his life, one in personified form, had taken its toll on his happiness.

It had been two months since Jinwoo had seen the man he’d begun to fall in love with. The last day he saw Kim Myungjun, was in front of his apartment block, after the sunset had been dyed by the night sky, and Myungjun’s sad face turned away from him. He’d promised to see him again – and Jinwoo hopes he will, but he hadn’t expected it to be so long. Not a trace of contact, either.

Jinwoo’s not stupid, and he’s not crazy. He _knows_ he should get over the man; but a twanging on his heart strings tells him to keep hope. ‘Of course,’ must stand for something, right? It had been so abrupt – Myungjun’s sudden shift in emotion, their disconnection like the snapping of a rubber band. Jinwoo preferred gradual change, he decides.

He keeps the journal of flower meanings in the bottom of his drawer, along with the receipt they’d written on. A quiet reminder, hidden, but still there. He’d only pulled them out once, stroking his fingers over the pages Myungjun had fawned over, eyes scanning every twist of Myungjun’s handwriting.

 _It’s not like he’s fucking died_ , Jinwoo had thought to himself, throwing the damned journal back into his drawer and slamming it shut. He hadn’t looked at it since.

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Dongmin had reasoned over dinner one night, perhaps a week or two ago. His face held a sorry look, sagging his features. “You were in love with him, weren’t you?”

Jinwoo supposes this is true – he had fallen in love. Though, Myungjun didn’t know this, and Myungjun hadn’t returned his feelings – not as if Jinwoo had expected him too. However, he can’t help but hold Myungjun accountable for breaking his heart. He keeps this to himself, as he doesn’t want to miss the way Bin smiles with his eyes at Dongmin, that lovesick look in his gaze that Jinwoo could have sworn he’d spared Myungjun.

Sometimes, Jinwoo thinks of the night they spent under the stars. The way MJ had glowed magnificently under the lights. The way his golden skin had paled, not in a sickly way, and shone a pearly sheen. The tiny speckles of stars reflected in his deep brown eyes, and the moonlit tears that rolled out of those same, usually happy eyes. He wonders what had cracked in the boy that night, what secrets Myungjun held within him.

He tries to think less of it. Jinwoo’s friend aid in this. Sanha invited him to see the new action movie he and Minhyuk had been desperate to watch. For the most part, he felt like an awkward, parental chaperone, lagging behind two teenagers obviously flirting with each other. Even as the movie had begun, the two chat quietly between them, not disturbing the rest of the audience, but certainly distracting Jinwoo. He’d been grateful, anyway, even bought them ice-cream to eat on the walk home.

Bin and Dongmin, whilst also taking him to dinner, helped him in his university studies, and Dongmin tried to pair him up with a few guys from his art lectures. It had been awkward, meeting up with a guy that Dongmin had suggested, especially when he was trying to fall out of love with someone else.

The guy had big round glasses and a chiselled face, cheeks that didn’t protrude sweetly like bulbs. His voice was soft and warm, but not bubbly at all. His hands were like an artisan’s, poised yet scarred – but not long and delicate, and they didn’t tap to the beat of the songs playing over the radio, or when he thought of something funny to say. Jinwoo picked at every poor comparison he could, until there was nothing left of the man except things that separated him from Myungjun.

Dongmin had been excited to hear how the date had been when Jinwoo had returned to his and Bin’s flat – and apologised that it hadn’t worked it.

“I assure you, it wasn’t your choice that made it not work out,” Jinwoo muttered, pulling some leftover chicken out of the fridge. The meal at the restaurant he’d hardly touched had not satisfied him. “It was me.”

Moonbin sighed from his place, reclined beside Dongmin. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, over the back of the couch. Jinwoo simply shook his head, and fell on the other side of Dongmin.

“Not especially,” he muttered, taking another bite of his chicken.

“I think it would help, even just a little,” Dongmin suggested, placing a hand on his knee. Jinwoo tries his hardest not to inch away from the touch, and luckily, Dongmin lifts his hand and places it back in his lap before he even realises.

He glances up at the two boys, watching him carefully. Jinwoo doesn’t want to admit to the tears welling up behind his eyes, especially as he hadn’t even begun talking yet. They pricked at the back of his eyes, but he choked them back. Shrugging simply, he answers, “It was hard.”

Bin raises an eyebrow, _continue?_

Jinwoo feels the tears fight against him, slipping silently over the bags beneath his eyes and down his cheeks. “It was so hard, Min. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t do it – I-I just kept comparing everything about him to Myungjun. The thi-ings he said, the faces he made, the way he laughed and the way he moved-d.” He drops the box of chicken into his lap, freeing his hands. Helplessly, he throws his head in his hands, and sobs. “Why can’t I move on? Am I insane?!”

It wasn’t a question, and the boys don’t answer. They don’t do much at all, but nod in understanding. Dongmin goes so far as to mutter, “It gets easier – soon enough, it’ll feel okay again.”

Jinwoo recites these words in his head, in the foggy hours of the morning long before the sun has risen, and in the serene hours of the night when no one was awake. The mantra becomes a motto, which becomes a truth. Life starts to get a little easier, and slowly, Jinwoo feels himself healing.

It’s when he’s almost okay again, that he sees Myungjun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed that?? hop youre not crying?? hope youre looking forward to the next chapter?? hmu on tumblr @sanhachan for a gr8 time (or just me chatting about how much i adore astro)  
> pls wish me luck in trying to write things other than this fic lolol thank bye


	10. Winter; Loss - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They chat quietly between them, giggling and smiling. Jinwoo is jealous of their love, celebrated in their own, small world. ___  
> OR, Jinwoo sees Myungjun again. It wasn't the reconciliation he'd desired, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless yah souls. sorry this one took a while!! pls read end notes as they are super important for my lil chit chat

The snow had begun to fall the day before, lining windowsills and rooftops with a blanket of glimmering ivory. Even the ground had a thin layer of snow atop, a minor inconvenience, but a stunning one nonetheless.

Jinwoo sits before some dying flowers, rubbing the pads of his fingers along the coiling petals. He’d had some time to think, to reflect. “I think it’s partly my fault,” he says out of the blue, and Minhyuk and Sanha turn their attention to him, confused. “I think it’s _mostly_ my fault that we haven’t seen each other, Myungjun and I,” he elaborates, and Sanha sighs.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Jinwoo. Why do you say that?” He’s busy sorting seed packages into the little drawers, Minhyuk passing them to him from a big bag.

“I didn’t once message him. I didn’t ask if he wanted to meet up, or if he needed anything. I just… I expected him to do all of that,” he says, mumbling. He feels strange, venting to a pair of teenagers. Especially a pair of teenagers newly in love – and if Sanha says they’re not together yet, Jinwoo knows he’s lying.

Jinwoo watches their body language communicate, nervous but exhilarated, shy but affectionate. He can practically see their teenage emotions setting off within their chests, silenced by their sheer will to appear calm, collected, and cool.

It would be a lie if Jinwoo were to say he were not envious. Envious of their teen romance, of their ability to accept themselves and who they are so early on in their lives, especially with the apprehensive society they mingle within. Envious, also, simply of their romance that does exist. One not one-sided, one not unrequited, one not painful.

Minhyuk shrugs, “I don’t think it’s fair to say that. The reason you guys met and hung out was because Myungjun came by here so often.” He says, and hands Sanha another packet. Jinwoo glances at him, Minhyuk’s face hard and concentrating, forming a sentence in his brain that would put Jinwoo at ease. “Whilst you didn’t message him, he never showed up, either. You can’t shoulder all the blame, when Myungjun hasn’t come along, either.”

Sanha nods, “Minhyuk’s right,” he adds, and smiles down at the older boy. “Is there… Is there a reason you didn’t message Myungjun?” Sanha asks, intrigued, though his words fall out of his mouth as if he’s nervous to say this, testing the waters.

Jinwoo shrugs, resting his elbows on his knees, chin rested in his palm. “Like I said, I expected him to turn up here. I expected everything to go back to normal. He was so out of it, that night, but he said we’d see each other again soon. I figured he may just have been sad leaving, but then I never got a message, and he never came to buy more flowers.

“I waited for him to show up, and I was going to send a message, just to check up on him, but I got too nervous. I’m so stupid. I should have just sent him a fucking text,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. He can feel the beginnings of tears welling up behind his eyelids. _This was his fault_.

A silence lingers between the three of them, the only noise Minhyuk’s hand rustling through the bag. Eventually, he advises, “You need to take a day off, Jinwoo.” Sanha nods in agreement.

“I’m okay here on my own – you know I am. Besides, I have Minhyuk to keep me company.” Sanha’s gaze is gentle, maybe a bit sorry. Jinwoo sees a twinkle of hope in his eyes, that shines after Jinwoo begins to contemplate. He knows it’s only so Sanha can spend time with Minhyuk.

“What am I supposed to do?” Jinwoo asked, turning back to the drooping flower. It seemed this whole case would have to be binned, all the petals curling under at the ends with a dull, grey colour. Truthfully, he had no idea what options he had to spend his time.

Minhyuk rolled his eyes, “Jinwoo, there’s literally so much you can do. We live in the city, for God’s Sake,” he says, and steps away from Sanha’s side and slides behind the counter. Sanha follows him, leaping onto the edge of the bench, instead. “You could go shopping, or for a walk in the park. You could see a movie, or go to an art gallery, or --,”

He’s interrupted by Sanha. “What Minhyuk _means_ is you gotta spend a little time, just by yourself, without any work to do. Relax, Jinwoo.” Minhyuk smiles bashfully up at Sanha, who returns with a cheeky grin. “We’ll see you in three hours, yeah?” The youngest boy urges, and hands Jinwoo his big, thick coat. It’s a bit wet from the snow outside, but Jinwoo shrugs it over his shoulders anyway.

Smiling gently, he thanks them quietly, awkwardly, and slips outside. Fully aware he was kicked out so the boys could be by themselves, he takes advantage of the moment. Maybe, on a walk, he can clear his head a bit. He decides his first destination will be the park, followed by the café in the far corner, overlooking the fields of white.

The park entrance is a wide path with a grand arch reaching overhead, wrapped in vines. In the Springtime, those vines blossom with delightful purple flowers and white buds. Though as Winter breathes it’s dying breath over the city, the vines are nothing but shrivelled twigs. Jinwoo supposes it’s still quite stunning, the snow sparkling under the light of day, lining the leaves of the evergreen bushes, too.

It had been a long time since Jinwoo had been content being by himself. A very long time since he’d felt satisfied with his own company, without distractions. He can feel the happiness creeping up on him, settling with warmth in the centre of his chest, blossoming in his chest like a flower would after the snow melts.

A mother and daughter stroll past him, the little girl waddling along beside her mum on the cleared brick paving, chatting about childish things like fairies and candies. A couple walk past, bickering gently about where to go for lunch. An old woman complains to her son about the aches in her joints, and how the cool air only makes them worse, but her cheeky grin shines brighter than the sun ever had in Winter, as he helps her along.

There’s another couple coming down the path. Their sides are pressed together, arms linked between them, sharing their warmth in the space of their bodies where they meet. The girl’s long, black hair falls from her yellow beanie, one that matches the boy’s. They chat quietly between them, giggling and smiling. Jinwoo is jealous of their love, celebrated in their own, small world.

As they come closer together, Jinwoo’s pace matching theirs, he almost stops in his tracks. The boy is _Myungjun_.

The realisation makes his heart pound in his ears, thumping painfully fast. The skin on the back of his neck prickles, and a hot blush crawls over his skin. A sharp twist in Jinwoo’s gut flips his stomach over, and the space where his lungs resided felt heavy and closed off. He’d never felt a feeling as such, one of heartbreak, perhaps. Sudden, too.

He realises, as the couple slows their pace, that he has stopped completely still. Staring at them, bewildered, heartbroken – is that a twinge of _anger_?

Myungjun’s eyes squint at Jinwoo for a moment, and the stare he holds flickers with emotions. First is recognition, followed by a sunken look, and then, Jinwoo recognises the familiar sunshine that he’d missed so much. Despite the ache in his abdomen, that beaming grin still sends a shot of warmth through his chest.

“Jinwoo?” Myungjun asks, and the girl stops walking. The boys stare at each other for a long, stretched moment, before Myungjun continues, “How are you?”

The truth sits on the tip of his tongue, sharp and bitter, ready to spit at the man. Somehow, he swallows it, and utters, “Good! And you?” The lie falls smoothly from his mouth, taking him by surprise. Perhaps he really _had_ been getting better.

Myungjun’s eyes curl into crescents, cheeks caving in by the corners of his smiling lips. “Great! Been a bit busy-,” he says, nudging the girl beside him, who giggles. “-but I’m happy.” Part of Jinwoo is glad to see the smile back on his face, grown out of the person he was the last time they’d been together. The other part of Jinwoo was devastated that the girl was clearly the cause of all of this. _This_ – Myungjun’s disappearance.

Jinwoo huffs out a half-hearted chuckle, and doesn’t know what to say next. He hates this feeling, this awkward, empty feeling. He digs through the files in his brain, searching for something to talk to him about. Being separated for so long had brought with it an absence of familiarity in Jinwoo’s brain. He best resort to small talk. “It’s cold, huh?”

_Stupid_.

Myungjun looks a little disappointed, but smiles nonetheless, “Freezing! I much prefer spring,” he clarifies. The girl latched onto his arm gives him an impatient look, elbowing him gently in the side. When he glances at her, she grins, and somehow, he understands what she wants. “Oh! Sorry,” he begins, and turns back to Jinwoo. “Jinwoo, this is Areum, my girlfriend,” he smiles, and she waves.

It wasn’t as if Jinwoo couldn’t guess – but hearing the words confirmed made his stomach feel like it was tearing in two along the centre. _Girlfriend_.

She bows softly, and releases his arm, muttering something about a wishing well. Both boys watch as she scurries away toward a pocket where the trees cave in. A little pond that granted wishes per your silver coins; Jinwoo had glanced at it as he passed. Myungjun turned back to him, and Jinwoo took the moment to stare at the shape of Myungjun’s face, the one he’d missed.

A heart shaped face, one third covered by the fluffiness of his fringe. His eyes are small and dark, but they shine a golden colour under the sun, and when he’s happy. In the centre of his face was his nose, a cute round one. Rounded cheeks, puffy and soft. His pink lips, big and pouty, always wrapped around a smile – even when pulled tight in that vibrant grin of his, his cupid’s bow is still two perfect arches.

The crystals of snow are falling lightly, landing along the strands of his orangey hair, sitting for a moment before melting away. He looks gorgeous, bathed in the grey light, the snowflakes drifting past him, like magnets pulled to his being. He’d never failed to make Jinwoo feel happy in his presence – it felt weird to have his heartbreak ease and heal when perpetrator is in front of him.

And, before Myungjun starts talking again, he thinks, _Wow, I’m so in love with him_.

“So, how’s work? Sanha behaving?” He laughs his bubbly chuckle, and plays with his fingers.

Jinwoo smiles, “He is. He and Minhyuk got together, too,” he says, and Myungjun raises his eyebrows. “Work’s fine. A bit rough in Winter, but that’s the way these things go,” he says, and Myungjun is listening intently.

“S-Sorry I haven’t come around,” he says, after a moment. “I’ve just been really busy, especially with Areum, and all,” his face tightens, and he looks away from Jinwoo, to his shoes.

Jinwoo smiles, “It’s okay,” he lies, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I get it.”

Areum is coming back, Jinwoo can sense her behind him. Myungjun lifts his head, smiles at her, and then turns to Jinwoo. “Thanks, Jinwoo. I’ll see you around, yeah?” He asks, and takes the girl’s hand in his, cheeks red – from the cold gust of wind that pushes between them, or the action of being so publicly affectionate, Jinwoo could not decide.

“ _Of course_ ,” Jinwoo replies, and the couple walk off. Jinwoo watches them, until their footsteps indented in the snow fill again, and until their silhouettes are nothing but specks in the distance.

_I’ll see you around, yeah? Of course._ Like déjà vu; they’re the exact words said on the night they departed – only this time, the other way around. Jinwoo makes the promise this time, the one that won’t be kept.

Jinwoo doesn’t go to the café, or back to the shop.

**To: Sanha**

_I’m sorry. I can’t come back to the shop. I’ll make it up to you._

The snow starts to fall heavier, and heavier, and heavier, but he walks through it nonetheless, all the way home. His brain feels like it’s empty, but at the same time, like it’s filled with too much information. Little thoughts of Myungjun and Areum buzz around in his head, and his legs feel numb and heavy like bricks. Somehow, he manages to carry himself home.

He doesn’t cry, not at all. Not until he opens the door to his apartment, welcomed to a dark and empty abode. Shutting the door behind him, the lock clicks into place, and echoes into the room. He’s all alone.

Jinwoo rests his back against the door, huffs out a sigh, and then a cry rips out of his throat, and he slides to the ground. He stays there, sobbing into his arms and onto the hardwood floor, for a long while. He isn’t sure exactly how long, whether it be half an hour or two hours, or even longer.

He hugs his wet coat tighter around his chest, shivering on the cold ground. Puddles and smears of his tears glisten under the soft light peeping in through the blinds. Jinwoo’s heart feels just as empty and lifeless as this apartment.

Jinwoo’s phone buzzes in his pocket, the only noise after a long silence – he’d sobbed so hard he’d almost lost his voice, his hoarse throat aching.

            **From: MJ (* 3*)**

_It was nice to see you again today! We should catch up x_

**_ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE THIS CONTACT?_ **

**_CONTACT DELETED._ **

**** **From: [UNKNOWN NUMBER]**

_It was nice to see you again today! We should catch up x_

_I’m sorry I never called._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey thanks for reading sorry if i made you feel a little bit sad??
> 
> anyway - make sure to hmu on my sideblog @sanhachan we can have some fun together and you can send in prompts?? i love prompts?
> 
> ALSO I FINALLY AM ON MY TWO WEEK BREAK AND EVEN THOUGH I HAVE HOLIDAY ASSIGNMENTS I CAN DEDICATE SO MUCH OF MY TIME TO WRITING SO HOPEFULLY I COMMIT TO THAT YEYEYE


	11. Winter; Loss - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinwoo, and his habit of running into familiarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh~ i had so much writers block this chapter... but im back into it :p keke

Jinwoo waited for the battery on his phone to run dry, staring at the text messages, rereading it until the words had become engraved into his memory, visible even when he shut his eyes.

**From: [UNKNOWN NUMBER]**

_It was nice to see you again today! We should catch up x_

_I’m sorry I never called._

Soon enough, Jinwoo stripped of his coat, leaving it in its own puddle on the floor, and went to bed. It had turned night, now, as he dragged himself to his bedroom, body aching after laying on the hard ground for so long. His face felt puffy, tight, and swollen, especially around his eyes. His eyeballs burned and scratched – his throat, too.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get to sleep, thoughts of _Myungjun_ poking around in his brain. Eventually, Moonbin arrives home, Dongmin in tow. Giggling; soju, or some sort of alcohol running thick in their systems.

_Shh, Jinwoo must be asleep!_

Clambering about the house, knocking into things and dropping others. They head off to Moonbin’s bedroom, neighbouring Jinwoo’s. The pair don’t settle; Jinwoo doesn’t exactly appreciate the guttural moans and groans that echo through the paper-thin walls. If they, like Minhyuk and Sanha, hadn’t gotten together already, then they were sure to in the morning…

Jinwoo folds his pillow over his ears. Everyone else was falling in love, and Jinwoo was left, heartbroken. The sounds die down, and sleep comes like an ocean wave after the tide rolls back in; peacefully, pulling him under the surface.

+

A few days’ pass, slow as the snow that drifts to the ground. Daily, the streets are cleared, Moonbin goes to buy more milk, and Jinwoo works at the florist. Dongmin hasn’t left. In fact, his toothbrush is balanced on the edge of the bathroom sink, now, too. Sanha hasn’t worked a shift without Minhyuk – who promises he’s not bored, but Jinwoo knows this is a lie.

It’s nearing closing time, one afternoon, when Jinwoo finally says something about it. “Sanha, Minhyuk is obviously bored. Why don’t you two go out on a date or something?” Both boy’s whip their heads to face him, blushing red. Sanha scowls slightly, lips curling downward. He’s embarrassed. Minhyuk, though it’s barely evident, clutches onto the end of Sanha’s sleeve. “I’ll even pay.”

Both teens raise their eyebrows, glancing at each other, before back to Jinwoo. “You’re okay to close on your own?” Sanha asks, cocking his head to the side.

Jinwoo nods, “It’s no fun here. You’re young! Go have fun,” Jinwoo insists, feeling a prick of pity for poor Minhyuk who’d spent his weekends sorting through seed packets with Sanha. He hands them a few notes, and sends them on their way. Minhyuk is bubbly and excited, suddenly, and latches onto the younger boy’s arm as they exit, discussing what they should do.

He thinks it’s cute – he never got a teenage romance. A young love, an innocent one filled with poor navigation and hot cheeks, gentle touches and stuttered confessions. Jinwoo wants the two to cherish their time together, at this youthful stage in their lives, whether their relationship lasts or not.

Only two other customers stroll through the doors in the final hour. Jinwoo closes, alone. Waters the plants, clicks the lock shut, and pushes the door to double check. Looking to his left, down the long, cracked pathway that ends as it rolls around a corner, Jinwoo can’t help but think of their first meeting.

It had been a lot brighter, then. Now, at this time of day, the sun has long set, though it’s pink colours hidden behind grey clouds. Even so, he stares at the strip of pavement where the light-haired man had sprinted, asking him if the store was closed. It had been, but Jinwoo left it open for him, anyway. At the point where the path curves, where Myungjun had stood once, waiting for Jinwoo’s confirmation to let him stay behind.

The sun had shone on him, through his hair like a halo and over the lengths of his skin that were visible. His smile had turned the sunflowers, and warmed Jinwoo from the inside, out.

Perhaps, it was true, that Jinwoo had gotten himself into trouble falling for someone that wouldn’t love him back. No matter how many times Dongmin had said _the heart wants what it wants_ , it left no ounce of reassurance; instead, a sour taste on the end of his tongue. Why must the heart want what it can’t have?

Jinwoo can’t tug his eyes away from the strip of pavement. This was where their beginning was set; the epilogue to the moment he realised he was in love for the first time.

He walks home, alone and in silence, letting the snow fall onto his cheeks, and feeling the cold weather soak from the tips of his fingers, into the centre of his chest, where his heart resided.

+

Jinwoo doesn’t remember much of the first half of the day.

It had felt stressful, but the details of actual happenings seemed to pass only like a movie, or something he was not truly a part of. Stressful, as the feeling of fatigue and loneliness weighed him down like the heavy grey clouds above. The only moment he felt alert, really, for the first four hours, was when a young woman arrived.

Preparing a bouquet for God-knows-what – Jinwoo hadn’t really listened to the reasons why – her eyes lit up at the collection of flowers and she spent a long time picking between colours and shapes with eager eyes. Whenever she leaned in to smell them, her eyes fluttered shut and she smiled softly. A true character, she was, giggling in excitement every time Jinwoo added another flower to her collection.

They’d designed the bouquet along with Sanha, rearranging the flowers, her bright grin warming Jinwoo from the inside, just enough to feel the ice around his heart drip a little. From her bag, she tugged out a piece of white silk and a pink ribbon, and Jinwoo wrapped the bouquet all together. After he handed it to her, and rung up the price and gave her the change, though, was the most intriguing part of it all.

Pulling out a flower somewhere left of the centre, long stem plucked out, she held out a peony. A pink, bulbous flower, made up of many small, spiralling petals. It only takes Jinwoo two moments to remember the meaning: _Shame, Happy Life._

A silly meaning, an unimportant one. But, a kind gesture, nonetheless. She gently places the flower on the counter across from him, and it lolls to the side a little before his eyes. He stares down at it, a sick feeling swirling around in his stomach. This scene seemed all too familiar.

Smiling, she says something like, _thank you for all your work_ , and leaves. The door slams shut, little bell above the latch ringing gently. Not lifting his head, instead almost _glaring_ at this poor flower until it might just wilt under his gaze, Jinwoo feels a deep solace twist up from his gut, up into his lungs, and worming its way into his heart.

Running his finger along the stem, over the leaves with their wiry veins, and over the soft, pink petals. His fingertip swirls along the arrangement, until it presses lightly into the centre. He treasures the gesture, no matter how painfully similar it feels to the times he first met Myungjun. The lavender sprig he’d received had long died, bent over itself in the little jar it had once lived in.

Sanha doesn’t say anything, watching silently from the corner. Watches, as Jinwoo’s shoulders begin to shiver, the flower held now in his palm shaking in his grasp. To Jinwoo, his gaze feels careful, cautious, caring – protective like a loved one’s, or a mother’s.

The teen opens his mouth to speak, but Jinwoo looks up at him, pulling together everything that had begun to well up within him again, and pressing it down again. Like a thumb pushing the soil over a newly laid seed, Jinwoo buries himself. “It’s okay,” he says, with a gentle smile, and pushes the peony to the side. “It really is.”

Sanha helps him close, sweeping the floors of dirt and dust, giving a quick water to the plants. Jinwoo tucks the peony back in with the others in a huge, ready-made bouquet that had been ordered to be picked up the next day. When he does it, he makes sure Sanha is busy in the backroom, and wishes a thank you to the woman who had left it for him. He’s waiting by the door when Sanha slides out from the corner and makes his way to the exit.

Jinwoo locks up, the young boy wishing him a farewell and striding off in the opposite of Jinwoo’s usual direction.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” He calls out for the kid, who shrugs.

“I don’t know. Minhyuk still has to get back to me!” He calls out, waves over his shoulder. “See ya, Jinwoo!” With that, he rounds the corner.

Jinwoo pushes the door, rattles it a little to check if it’s locked up. Once he’s sure, he takes a step back, and turns to go on his way. He doesn’t expect a figure, a familiar one, at the corner.

This time, the sun doesn’t shine on him and through his hair. The sun doesn’t reflect off his golden skin and make it glow, no. This time, Myungjun stands in the snow, letting the snow fall into his hair and melt on the skin of his face. Still, he looks beautiful, like an angel’s descendant.

Jinwoo feels as if his feet have frozen to the cleared pavement. He feels as if his heart could fly out of his chest, it was beating so hard.

Myungjun’s words curl out, between his lips pulled in a tight smile, “Are you… Closing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make sure to check out my tumblr @sanhachan for updates on my fic, and astro in general :D i hope you enjoyed the chapter even if it was a bit short...


	12. Winter; Loss - Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Didn’t you know I only came here to see you?” Myungjun’s eyes shine with a mischievous glint, eyebrows raised._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:**  
>  this chapter contains light smut - nothing explicit, but it's definitely obvious. just warning any readers who may be uncomfortable :)  
> but hey, its a fact of life my guys~~  
> it's easily to skip if you don't particularly want to read it (though i do recommend as it gives more insight on MJ, but each to their own and i really dont think you should read if you're not comfortable), so stop reading at "but for now, it'd have to do." and start again after the "+". just ctrl+f if you cant find them ;)

“Are you… Closing?”

His voice sounds different from the first time he said this – then, he’d run out of breath sprinting up to Jinwoo, sweat dotting his forehead. Now, he’s just a figure in the distance, voice shaky and whipped under the harsh slap of the freezing wind.

And, like the ghost of the boy he was in Summer, Jinwoo says, “Yeah, but I can make one last purchase for you.” He unlocks the door, and holds it open, and tries to tuck his blushing face further into his scarf. Jinwoo isn’t sure why exactly he invites him inside again, but he’s happy to spend just a moment with him.

Myungjun smiles, vibrant and large even from all the way over there. He begins walking, slow, keeping his gaze fixed on his feet. When he arrives to the door, he waves, and steps inside before Jinwoo. Jinwoo switches the lights on, waiting for the flickering of near-dead bulbs to end, before shutting the door behind him. He feels the peony the woman had given him stare down at him, as if accusing him of something. Jinwoo doesn’t look at it; instead, he walks behind the counter.

“How are you, Jinwoo?” Myungjun asks, leaning his hips against the bench. He pushes a hand through his fringe, nudging it aside from his eyes. “I only briefly got to speak to you, and you didn’t respond to my text messages.” He shrugged, a very small smile dug into his face.

“Ah, sorry,” Jinwoo muttered, huffing out a breathy laugh. “You know what Winter is like – it’s no fun for anyone.” A dismissive answer, he realises, but it intrigues Myungjun, eyebrows raised. “How’s Areum?” Jinwoo asks, both eager and devastated to know the answer.

Myungjun looks surprised for a moment, taken aback. “Oh, yeah. She’s well – she’s at university, at the moment, studying.” He smiles briefly, and looks around the room, and changes the subject. “Ah, I missed it here. Looks different in Winter.” He thumbs the petals of a small, yellow flower, and turns back to Jinwoo.

Jinwoo doesn’t quite know what to say again. Myungjun sought him out, and is standing before him, beautiful as ever. Small talk is all that comes to his mind – and he feels a deep, churning nostalgia for the days he’d so freely talked with the man. “How’s things with you? What are you up too?”

Myungjun, too, can sense the false feeling of familiarity. Feigned, pretending to behave as they had once. The tension between them pulled taut, and Jinwoo worked at loosening the knot in his chest, and in their connection. “Not much,” he answered, “School gets tiring in Winter because the kids aren’t allowed to run around outside and exhaust their energy, but so it goes,” he smiles. “It’s nice, though.”

The younger man nods, taps his fingers against the counter. The snow outside isn’t falling as quickly, now, nothing but a soft drift of tiny snowflakes. “Can I get you anything? Flowers?” He asks.

The light-haired man shakes his head, cheeks pink. His hands slide into his pockets. “Didn’t you know I only came here to see you?” Myungjun’s eyes shine with a mischievous glint, eyebrows raised.

Jinwoo grins tightly – he’d missed those eyes and the way they sparkled. He’d missed that smile and the way it spun him. He was wrapped around Myungjun’s damn index finger, under his will. “It’s cold here – shall we go back to mine and Bin’s house? I can make drinks?” He asks, knowing that any nearby cafes were further from the shop than his home.

The older man’s eyes widen, and his face curls into a grin. “I’d like that!” He says, and follows Jinwoo out the door.

It feels strange, to Jinwoo, hobbling side by side under the snow, trying not to slip on the ice, and trying to keep the conversation flowing. Somehow, Myungjun’s magical personality makes everything work, and for the first time in a long time, Jinwoo feels like his life is starting to heal over. They talk about everything and nothing, but on the unspoken blacklist of topics, is the Autumn break, and Areum, it appears.

When they arrive to Jinwoo’s apartment, they both shrug off their wet coats and hang them by the door. The house is empty, though still warm, a note on the table left for Jinwoo.

_Jinwoo,_

_Went out with Dongmin. Probably won’t be home until late._

_Bin_

Dongmin had also scribbled his name at the bottom of the letter, a little lopsided heart to the side. Perhaps they went on a date. Jinwoo turns to Myungjun, who awkwardly stands by the door, “Bin went out, so I guess it’s just us,” he smiles, and Myungjun responds with the same, bright face. “Would you like tea? Coffee?”

“Um, coffee, thank you,” Myungjun answers, and settles himself by the table. “Your apartment is really cute, but you know, I expected more flowers,” he says, and Jinwoo laughs as he sets the kettle to boil.

“I’m a florist by _day_ , Myungjun,” he replies.

“And, what are you by _night_?” The older man asks, one eyebrow raised.

“ _Superhero_ ,” Jinwoo smirks, voice faux rough. This makes Myungjun giggle, hand clasped over his mouth and eyes crinkled and curved upwards. In his chest, his heart feels warm. “I assume you take sugar?” He asks, pouring water into two mugs.

“You know me too well,” Myungjun replies, but his voice pulls tight at the end of his sentence. Jinwoo pretends not to notice, neither that nor the sudden gloomy feeling in the kitchen, and continues to make the coffee. Finally, he sets one down before Myungjun and takes a sip of his own, settling himself in the seat beside the older man. As the older man brings it to his lips, he mutters a gentle, “Thank you.”

There’s a long silence between them, and both men know they have the same words on the tip of each of their tongues – it’s a matter of who is daring enough to utter them first. Apparently, it’s Myungjun.

“I missed you,” he says, and stares into his coffee. He glances up at Jinwoo, to gauge his reaction, a watery smile rippling on his face.

His brain feels like it’s going foggy, and Jinwoo can’t think of anything else, other than to say, “I missed you, too.” It had felt so much more than that, and the words _I love you_ danced around in his throat, just begging to be released. He takes a sip of coffee and drowns them.

Once again, Myungjun is the one to speak for the both of them. “It feels like more than that, doesn’t it?” He asks, pleading eyes boring into Jinwoo’s. Pleading, for something Jinwoo does not know, or cannot give. Or, something _Myungjun_ cannot give.

Jinwoo wants to say ‘ _how do you understand?’_ He wants to yell, and scream, and cry, because _how could Myungjun know what I’ve been through?_ Simply, instead, he nods, and tries to suppress the tears pricking at his eyes.

Myungjun places his mug down on the table, finger rubbing against the handle, and around the rim. They’re both silent, again, just staring at each other. The older man has a look in his eyes that is piercing and fiery, flickering unsteadily as thoughts churn in his head. Jinwoo can feel the tension growing between them, like two strings pulling their bodies closer together.

One of Myungjun’s hands falls to his thigh, and Jinwoo drops his gaze to it, his long fingers spreading themselves out like a star over his jeans. He looks back up, into Myungjun’s eyes, and he feels a surge of confidence, and an urge to _touch_ ignite within him.

He leans in, hands reaching up to cup the sharp curves of Myungjun’s jaw, and closes his eyes, finally pressing their lips together. He wasn’t sure it was what Myungjun had wanted, but a selfish need had consumed every cell in his body, overpowering and hungry. He found himself not caring. Either way, the man in his hold kisses back, just as desperate and hungry, warm lips moving against Jinwoo’s with ferocity, hands reaching around his waist and slithering under his shirt.

It wasn’t how Jinwoo had dreamt of their first kiss.

But, for now, it’d have to do.

Suddenly, it felt as if a switch had been flipped, or a nerve had been nudged within him, and Jinwoo felt a flaming desire, fuelled by nothing but Myungjun and the sadness he’d left behind.

He can’t quite focus on what’s happening, his brain buzzing loudly, begging ‘don’t stop, keep going!’ So, he doesn’t, and Myungjun doesn’t halt him, oddly enough. Eventually, they coop themselves up in Jinwoo’s room and settle in his bed. Myungjun’s outline is highlighted with an orange silver lining, the streetlights outside glittering over his skin, contouring the poignant features on his pretty face.

The older man is a quiet yet needy lover. His hands roam the expanse of Jinwoo’s chest, roll through his hair, and caress his face. Myungjun’s long fingers explore where they can, and his lips follow, leaving trails of goose-bumps along Jinwoo’s skin. It’s dark, almost so that Jinwoo can see nothing but the stripes of light along Myungjun’s bare skin, sliding over his body as he moves. The younger man lay beneath him, indulging, but watching.

Myungjun doesn’t meet his eye – not once. They remain closed, occasionally fluttering open to glance over Jinwoo’s body, or stare at the shadow his creates against the wall. The fire in his eyes that had sparked in the kitchen, had dulled to nothing but embers. A distant, sorrowful and longing stare, he’d adopted, now – Jinwoo feels as if he still misses the man, even though he’s right above him.

As they near completion, Myungjun starts to make more noise. Whines echo from between his lips, and suddenly, he’s crying. Jinwoo feels panic rise in his system, worrying that he’d hurt the poor boy. He resembles the person he was on the night they’d seen the stars, with those large tears rolling down his cheeks and collecting under his chin.

Jinwoo slows, takes Myungjun’s hands in his, and kisses the knuckles slowly, tenderly. To ask if he’s okay – to silently check to see if he wants to keep going. As he pulls away from Myungjun’s fourth knuckle, he snatches his hands away from Jinwoo’s grasp, and with shaky words, urges him to keep going.

Silently, Jinwoo complies, ignoring the tear drops that splatter onto his chest. He finishes with a whisper of Myungjun’s name, falling out of his lips and holding itself in the space between them. Myungjun finishes soon thereafter, and Jinwoo carefully places him beside him on the bed.

He’d stopped crying, eyes drooping and tired – dazed – and a little swollen. Jinwoo doesn’t mention anything, simply pulls the blankets up over the two of them and tucks them around Myungjun’s sides. “Do you want me to clean up?” He asks.

In reply, Myungjun shakes his head. “Shh,” is how he responds, “Don’t say anything.” He grabs at Jinwoo’s wrist, clutching onto it and tugging him closer. He nuzzles his head into the space between the mattress and Jinwoo’s ribcage, and his breathing slows somewhat.

There’s a deep dip in the bed beside Jinwoo, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since they shared the motel bed in the countryside. Myungjun’s skin radiates heat against his own, chest rising and falling and pressing lightly against the side of his own chest. It’s comforting, somewhat. Perhaps it would feel a lot more so, if Jinwoo had bothered to think everything over before snapping.

He thinks, if he’d held back just a little longer, maybe he could have worked out exactly what Myungjun had wanted, or what he’d meant. What about poor Areum? What if Myungjun had not wanted this at all, and simply complied for Jinwoo’s sake?

At this thought, Jinwoo feels the burn of guilt bleed into every section of his body. He falls asleep, eventually – hands threaded into Myungjun’s hair, and a yearning in his heart for everything between them to restart.

+

When Jinwoo wakes, the bed space beside him that had once dipped under the weight of a person is flat, the sheets rippled as though someone had slept there. The warmth Myungjun may have left behind is long gone.

Jinwoo sits up, sheet wrapped around his lower half, and finds that Myungjun’s clothes that had been carelessly strewn across the room had disappeared. Perhaps he’d accidentally taken the wrong sweater, rummaging around in the dark of midnight; when Jinwoo gathers yesterday’s clothes together, his sweater is gone. Myungjun’s bright one lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, sleeves inside-out.

He lifts it to his nose, rubbing the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger, and smells it. Myungjun’s scent lingers in every twist and weave of thread, his cologne and the faint mingling of his sweat. Jinwoo hooks it up on a coat hanger, stuffing the sweater in his cloest, out of sight.

The night needn’t be remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how was that?? aghh. explanations are coming my lovelies. hold tight :D


	13. Winter; Loss - Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he can’t bring himself to chat as they usually might have, and he says, “How can I help you today?” Formal, polite. Standard. Employee to customer, service worker to stranger.   
> Myungjun seems a little taken aback, eyes widening. Shuffling awkwardly, his smile pasted on thickly, now, all he can utter is, “Jinwoo?” Quiet, begging, the name falls from his lips like a plea. A question, but Jinwoo wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey this chapter goes up tonight and the next goes up tomorrow morning!! so!! read quick eh!! :D

When Jinwoo steps out of his bedroom, dressed only in a pair of underwear and a robe wrapped tightly across his body, the room is silent and empty, like a shell. A shell of yesterday’s few moments of happiness, their two mugs still half-full on the table. Probably cold, and curdled, now. Jinwoo’s coat is the only one hooked by the door.

Quietly, he makes himself some coffee and settles himself opposite the two mugs. In the silence of the house, no noise but the distant growl of early-risers and hard-workers closer to the city centre and Bin’s light snores, Jinwoo has time to deliberate.

He didn’t want to – not at all. He didn’t want to remember Myungjun, anymore, and how he’d set himself up on a pedestal in Jinwoo’s heart. He _definitely_ didn’t want to remember how solemn and desolate Myungjun had looked last night, forcing their pleasure to mask his sadness.

And yet, he couldn’t help it.

Their mugs are still sitting side by side, he still has Myungjun’s sweater hung up in his cupboard, and the man has something going on. It seems that that something, Jinwoo might never come to understand.

Jinwoo tamps down all the questions ablaze in his mind, hushing thoughts such as ‘ _what about Areum?’_ He wasn’t even sure why Myungjun had gone along with their actions in the first place – he hadn’t denied anything, even _urged_ it with his own words. Somewhere in his stomach, Jinwoo felt a churning, the absence of explanations stressful.

Soon enough, Dongmin and Moonbin both make their way into the kitchen. Both have puffy cheeks, engraved with delicate smiles. They stop by the door, noticing the two mugs, Jinwoo’s lack of clothing bar his robe, and _apparently_ , his case of ‘sex hair’ (Bin emulates this by tangling his fingers in the back of his own hair).

“Oh my God,” Bin laughs, taking a step closer to the table. “Did… Did you _sleep_ with someone?” He asks, almost incredulously – in which Jinwoo felt a little insulted.

He raises an eyebrow at the younger couple, and takes another sip of his coffee. They stare at him, silently asking for an answer. Saying nothing, Jinwoo nods, and places his mug back on the table as the questions pour from their mouths, excited.

“Who was it?”

“Where’d you find him?”

“ _How_ was it?”

The questions are fired at him like little bullets into his chest, and Jinwoo remains silent, avoiding eye contact. Eventually, both boys quieten, and Dongmin seems to catch on. He reaches a hand to the centre of the table, and whispers, almost scared, “Was it Myungjun?”

The older man nods, and the two younger boys withdraw, sitting back in their chairs. They stew in the silence for a long moment, before Moonbin quietly asks, “And… He just left?” He glances down at the two coffee cups before him, and his gaze flitters back up to Jinwoo, who looks lost, distraught, _pained_.

“Sometime in the middle of the night,” Jinwoo answers, voice a bit husky, and quite strained. He doesn’t mention the sweater, deciding that it can stay locked up in the closet for a while longer. Jinwoo slides a hand over his face, “I… I don’t know _why_. I’m trying to work out why he wanted too… He was so _sad_ ; I wonder if I did something wrong.”

Dongmin raises an eyebrow. “He was sad?”

“He _cried_!” Jinwoo cries, a little incredulous, still. It had been surprising, watching the boy above him crumble apart. “I worried I hurt him, so I stopped – but he told me to keep going.” The blond chews on his lip, staring into his coffee and avoiding eye contact with the boys.

“That’s really odd,” Moonbin says, the group’s thoughts aloud. The other two nod in agreement. “What about Areum?”

Somewhere in between their first and second meeting, between the second day of snow and the night he slept with Myungjun, Jinwoo had said something about Areum to the boys. Maybe in passing, or over dinner – he didn’t remember which, but he did remember the sorry gaze cast over him from both men respectively.

Jinwoo can only shrug, because he simply doesn’t know.

He feels that the Myungjun he once knew – the happy, vibrant and exciting Myungjun – is just a thin shell protecting himself. Perhaps Jinwoo never knew Myungjun at all.

The boys try to cheer him up, help him forget about the night before. Jinwoo holds the façade that their efforts are beneficial; but as Dongmin curls up in Bin’s bed again, and Jinwoo slides into his own, lonely bed, he cries. Jinwoo sobs into his pillow, wet patches along the corners of his duvet.

When he wakes again with puffy and swollen eyes, Dongmin and Moonbin stare, but they don’t say anything.

+

Jinwoo had been working all day on his own, humming along to the small radio, and serving the occasional customer as they came through. The snow had begun to clear, the taller grass peeking through in search of sunlight, the gutters filled with slushy ice. The snow no longer looked beautiful, now just dirt-stained clumps of ice.

It had been a relatively quiet day, with no difficult customers, or menial tasks to be completed. Jinwoo even had time to play a few games on his phone. With only an hour left till the end of the day, the frost on the windows melting in cascading drips, Jinwoo heard the doorbell jingle, and someone step inside.

At the time, Jinwoo had been sweeping, back to the door. Swiftly hanging the broom up, Jinwoo turns to the customer, and feels his heart jump to his throat. The customer is Kim Myungjun.

Myungjun stands at the entrance to the shop, arms crossed over his chest and huddled in on himself to conserve the warmth his coat provided. He smiles lightly, tight, but friendly. He looked the same as always, round face with soft and charming features, light hair shining atop his head. Yet, somehow, Jinwoo can only see a stranger.

Someone he doesn’t know – doesn’t _understand_. Someone Jinwoo can’t help but feel a little scared of. Even with his polite grin, the odd feeling of the unknown swirls around him like an aura. Subconsciously, Jinwoo takes a little step back. Myungjun doesn’t notice, and walks up towards the counter, smiling as if he were waiting Jinwoo to greet him.

And, so, Jinwoo does. Though he can’t bring himself to chat as they usually might have, and he says, “How can I help you today?” Formal, polite. _Standard_. Employee to customer, service worker to stranger.

Myungjun seems a little taken aback, eyes widening. Shuffling awkwardly, his smile pasted on thickly, now, all he can utter is, “Jinwoo?” Quiet, begging, the name falls from his lips like a plea. A question, but Jinwoo wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

“Myungjun,” he replies, acknowledging him properly. He moves to stand behind the counter, directly across from the boy. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Myungjun seems to work out Jinwoo’s behaviour, and grits his teeth, the sharp arch of his jaw tensing. He nods, and releases a breath that sounds like half of a laugh, and half of a sigh. “I…  I actually did come for some flowers, today,” he says, words wobbling out from between his quivering lips and dancing in the air between them, self-conscious.

The younger man wants to laugh. For the first time in a long time, Myungjun had come to the shop to buy some flowers. Probably, Jinwoo realises, for his girlfriend. It feels as if Myungjun had grabbed a pair of the stem-snipping scissors and pierced them just left of the centre of his chest, twisting the blades around in his heart.

For Myungjun to come back here, after sleeping with him – after playing along – and turn his back on him right here and now; Jinwoo feels his chest ache like a wound might in fact be there.

Nonetheless, Jinwoo smiles – after all, he was known for being polite and welcoming to his customers. “Well, we just got a bunch of new shipments in, so make your request, and I can check out the back.”

The smile has fallen from Myungjun’s face. He looks empty, like the person that stood before Jinwoo _was_ nothing but a shell that once harboured the delightful Kim Myungjun. He nods, swallows thickly – and it’s impossible for Jinwoo to ignore the tears that well up in the man’s eyes. “If you have any, I’d like to get some purple hyacinths.”

_Sorrow; I’m Sorry. Please Forgive Me._

Jinwoo nods, tells the man he’d be back in a moment, and ducks into the back to grab some. Sorrowful apology, is the meaning of purple hyacinth. Perhaps, Areum had found out about their night together, and he’d found a way to apologise.

Petite and oblong in shape, with dozens of little star shaped petals spiralling along the top. They’re quite pretty, stunning when gathered in a bunch. The florist strips the leaves that gather around the stems, and ties a long piece of thin rope around the stalks, and carries it back out to the counter.

Myungjun stands, swaying slightly, chewing on his index fingernail. He stares at the ground, kicking his foot against a clump of dirt that had dried throughout the day. The man runs his free hand through his hair, tugging on the ends a little. When Jinwoo steps back inside, he brings his hands together before himself, reaching out for the bouquet.

_I’m Sorry. Please Forgive Me._

Jinwoo quickly rings up the price, and wraps the flowers up, passing them over to Myungjun. Myungjun takes them in his grasp, dragging his fingertips over the petals ever so delicately. His shoulders start to shake, only slightly, and Jinwoo watches without a word, as the man he loves falls apart before his eyes.

Watery smile, tears cascading down his cheeks like the melted frost on the windows, Myungjun lifts the bouquet up, and holds it before Jinwoo.

The petals brush against his chest, the brown paper crinkling as the bouquet is nudged against his chest. Jinwoo doesn’t react, instead staring from Myungjun to the flowers, and back to the sobbing man. Myungjun pushes them towards him again, chewing on his lower lip as if caging a sob within his throat.

_I’m Sorry. Please Forgive Me._

Jinwoo, still, just stares at the bouquet in his hands. He understands, he _knows_ what Myungjun’s intentions are, but the shock seeping into his blood is weighing him down, fingertips tingling.

Finally, Myungjun releases a frustrated sigh, and drops the flowers onto the counter between them. A few petals fly off, fluttering onto the ground. “Jinwoo, don’t you remember what they mean?”

With those words said, a loud growling yell escapes Myungjun’s lips, and his hands fly up to tug on his hair. He’s sobbing, face scrunched up, wet, and red. The man’s shoulders rattle with the force of his cries, and Jinwoo can’t do anything but stand there and watch. “Please,” Myungjun says, in between hiccups. “Please forgive me – let me _explain_.”

“Explain what?” Jinwoo yelps, feeling a hot anger and cold confusion stir in his belly. “Explain why you suddenly left me behind, and stopped speaking to me? Explain why you slept with me, despite Areum? Explain why you’re here, now? Which is it, Myungjun?! What on Earth could you _possibly_ say that would make this better?” He’s shouting, and the poor man across from him curls in on himself, sobbing into the folds of his arms where his elbows cross over his head to shield himself.

Like the sound of shattering glass, sudden, high-pitched and crackling, Myungjun answers, “Everything.” He stops for a moment, lifting his head from behind his arms. His face is blotchy, hair a tangled muss. “I loved you, Jinwoo, couldn’t you tell?!”

Jinwoo feels the blades of the stem-snipping scissors cut further into his chest, twisting and sliding. _Loved_. All he can do is shake his head, and then, he begins to cry, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed. the next chapter is MJ POV <3 hmu on @sanhachan on tumblr...


	14. Kim Myungjun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight on Kim Myungjun, and the way he feels.  
> (A/N: please make sure you read winter part five!! i uploaded them close together so you may have missed it!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some of the things Myungjun ahs felt in the story so far - he explains to you dear readers just how he feels. In the next chapter, he discusses this with Jinwoo :) ENJOY!

**Myungjun**

_Summer_

I met him in Summer. He was beautiful, with a handsome and charming face despite the dirt smeared across his cheek. The sun danced in his hair, and he welcomed me inside the store with a warm smile, even though he was closing. To thank him, I gave him one of the roses I’d bought for my grandmother.

He’d seemed sceptical at first, but when he smiled, I remember feeling a churning in my chest. They were roses with the thorns trimmed off – _love at first sight_ , I’d come to learn. I suppose it was fitting.

I didn’t need any more flowers for my grandmother; she recovered quickly after her fall, but I was desperate to see him again. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much I hated it. I figured, if I saw him again, maybe the magic would wear off, and I could safely forget about him.

However, when he asked me if I’d like to come in, I felt his presence alone ignite fireworks in my heart. I asked for his name, and he asked for my own, and I felt his gaze on me as I walked away.

After a little research, I decided not to buy roses for my grandmother anymore, instead, lavender. When given as a gift, it signifies new adventure – but otherwise, it symbolises devotion and love. I was determined to continue in the tradition I’d begun, and handed him a sprig of lavender.

He bought more roses for me, and told me he’d think of me whenever he saw them. When he said goodbye, he said my name. I remember my heart feeling as if it might explode. He took my advice, and dedicated his free time to learning flower meanings, and chose to impress me with a little book. Inside the little journal were dozens of drawn flowers, each with their names and meanings printed in neat handwriting beside them.

I could feel myself falling in love – and I despised it.

Since I was a kid, I’d always found myself falling for guys. And, since I was a kid, I’ve always been told that was wrong. My parents, my grandparents, my brother and his friends. The television dramas. I didn’t want to be _like that_. But, I was.

I was terrified, my whole life, that someone would find out I felt this way. I’d slept with a few men before, that I’d met at clubs, both of us drunk beyond our capable thoughts. For days, afterward, I would hide away in my room, or pretend I was ill – because maybe, I was. This is what I truly believed.

Park Jinwoo entered my life like the sun on a Summer’s day; beautiful and giving of life – but scalding and dangerous.

_Autumn_

I became addicted to seeing him. The first time I see him in Autumn, he invites me to the country side. I’d never been before, and had always wished to see the endless rice fields and the trees that grew without restriction. To see animals roam without fear, and to see townsfolk chatting as they pass on the streets. I’d lived in the city my whole life – never seen anything like that before.

Caught in the moment, I hugged him. He smelt of dirt, mixed with the scent of the shop, eternally embedded with the smell of greenery and florals. I clutched onto him, held on, in case I’d never get to do it again. He felt warm, pressed up against me, it made my fingertips and the ends of my toes tingle.

I’d eventually come to learn that this wasn’t the only time I’d feel him so close – but this was the only time I held him happily.

He began to analyse me. He’d watch my movements, and when he picked me up from work, he’d stared at me the entire time. I could feel him watching me, trying to calculate my next move, and I feared that he’d caught on.

He took me to the top of the hill of his hometown. The grass was long, up to my own hips, waving in the wind. The sky was bright blue and dotted with clouds. It was so beautiful; I the sight stain the inside of my brain and warm my heart.

The sunset was like a painting done just for us, as it hovered in the sky. It seemed like magic, the way it cast him and I under a pink glow – it was like a drama on the television. I felt, for a moment, that maybe I could have a show just like that – that the story he and I were weaving together was worthy of being broadcast. I remembered, with a bitter taste in my mouth, that this was not how it worked for two boys.

When the stars came out, I cried. The sunset had left us behind. But, it had given us the gift of thousands of glittering stars, as if someone in heaven had tipped a pot of glitter into the air. I had thought, it must be simpler up in heaven – I wish I was there.

I told him this, and to my surprise, he agreed.

He confessed to me that he’d loved a boy, and how he always felt he couldn’t love freely when he lived here. How, also, the stars gave him strength – they kept him alive. In that moment, I was grateful to the stars that shone above us, for giving him that hope, and for guiding him to me.

But, what had hit me harder, in his emotional speech, was the fact that he’d said _boy_. The whole time that I’d begun to fall in love with him, I had always assumed it would never work between us – because I could never love him, and because he would never love me. As he said it, I realised that the possibility of us being together had become real.

This was when I began to hide away.

Knowing, now, that I had least had some sort of chance, I knew I’d get carried away. So, I made the decision to slowly depart.

He watched me carefully, the next day – examining. I taught him how to make a wish on an Autumn leaf – and I wished for happiness. I worried it was something I could never have, but as I watched him watching me, I realised that, maybe, it could come to me.

Alone together in a café, we guessed the lives of other people. After a while, it fell silent. He looked content, relaxed, a small smile fixed on his face. This made me realise that perhaps he could be happy without me, though I could not be happy without him. If he was happy in our silence, was he happy in our partings?

He asked if he’d see me again – I gave him the reassurance of false hope, and said yes. He waited a moment, before he drove away. In that moment, that he watched me safely make my way inside, I felt his gaze on my back. In that moment, I realised he was in love with me, too. In that moment, I decided that in order to avoid the risk of hurting him, I had to leave him behind, like the previous sunset had to us.

Park Jinwoo phased out of my life like the Autumn leaves; slowly, until they blew away in the breeze, and crumbled into the dirt.

_Winter_

Determined to forget him, and my feelings for him, I searched for a girlfriend. I didn’t want to be _this way_ , as my mother had always put it. I didn’t want to be _different_ , as my father had put it.

I met Areum, a nice girl from my university, that apparently always took an interest in me. She was delighted when I asked her for coffee, a girlish giggle escaping her. A guy in my class told me I was lucky, to have such a lovely girl by my side. I felt guilt seep into me, like poison in my blood.

There was nothing special about her. I didn’t like her at all, at least, not romantically. She was nothing but a distraction, for me, a desperate plea for normality, perhaps. Somehow, breaking her heart felt like a game – when would I take a step too far? What could I say that could change our entire relationship? How could I let her know that I wasn’t happy?

He and I ran into each other when I was on a date with Areum. I watched him lie, say he was good, and I heard myself lie right back. It was like a contest, between he and I; I could tell he was hurting, too – but we were determined to prove to the other that we were perfectly fine.

He tells me that the two teenagers he knew fell in love. That work is rough in Winter, _but that’s the way these things go_.

I tell him Areum is the reason I haven’t been around to see him. Poor Areum shoulders both of our hatred, but all she does is give me love.

I text him after we leave, tell him we should catch up. Told him I was sorry. He never replied, so I sought him out. After seeing him again, I felt like I had the first time I met him; addicted. Like the first time we met, I ask him if he’s closing, and he lets me inside nonetheless.

His face seems empty, barren and bored. Sunken. He asks me about Areum, as if either of us cared. He takes me back to his home, and makes us coffee. He’s the first to give in, though I seem to stir him up.

Our first kiss is wild, messy, sudden. He clutches onto me, tightly, as if I’d leave again – he knows I will. There’s a hungry fire in my abdomen, that begs for more of his touch, and for more of _him_. This is what I’d always wanted, wasn’t it – to make love with someone important to me? Who was I to give it up, over Areum, over my parents?

He takes me to his room, and his gentle hands undress me. It doesn’t feel like making love, it feels like every other drunken night I’d had with strangers. The feelings we have are lost somewhere amid us, not quite reaching each other. I even cry, and had to beg him to keep going. I clutch onto him, tightly, tell him not to talk, so I can pretend it’s not him – and then, when he falls asleep by my side, I leave.

I take his sweater, because it smells like him. The way he said my name as he came undone was on loop in my head, drowning out every other coherent thought I could muster.

Park Jinwoo becomes my dirty secret like the Winter snow; killing everything in its frosty wake, and covering it all up with a pretty blanket of pure white innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls forgive me for all the sadness i am doing to you!! keke - hmu on @sanhachan on tumbr to cry with me :_)


	15. Winter; Loss - Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kim Myungjun discusses who he is, and what he's done. Park Jinwoo listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH I THINK THIS MIGHT JUST BE THE SEOCND LAST CHAPTER YALL. THIS HAS BEEN SUCH A JOURNEY!! SEE YOU IN THE SPRING CHAPTER <3

“I loved you, Jinwoo, couldn’t you tell?!”

Jinwoo feels the blades of the stem-snipping scissors cut further into his chest, twisting and sliding. _Loved_. All he can do is shake his head, and then, he begins to cry, too.

Myungjun takes a step back, hands flying to his mouth. Between his fingers, he mumbles, “Please, don’t cry!” Tears fall from his eyes, sliding between his fingers and beneath his palms. “Why? Why are you crying?” He asks, and moves his wet hands towards Jinwoo.

Jinwoo stands still, lets Myungjun’s long fingers curl around his jaw. His grasp is soft, gentle, barely there, featherlight brushes against his cheeks. He brings one of his own hands up, wipes his eyes, smearing his tears over his palm. As he lowers his hand, he gently clutches Myungjun’s wrist, and holds his hand in place.

“Because,” Jinwoo begins, releasing a long, shaky breath. “I love you,” he says, feeling his chest tighten. He breathes again, trying desperately to loosen the knot in his heart, and slow the folding over of his stomach, but his body isn’t put at ease, and neither is his mind. The confession falls between his lips, a weight off the tip of his tongue and onto the tension between them.

Myungjun doesn’t react – he says, “I know.”

The grip the younger man holds on Myungjun’s wrist tightens, and he pulls his hand away. Myungjun, on his own, lowers his other hand, bringing his freed hands together and holding them by his chest. “If you knew,” Jinwoo starts, piercing gaze meeting Myungjun’s. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you _leave_?”

Myungjun’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, with long, jagged pink lines traced down his cheeks beneath. Jinwoo wonders how often he’s cried, lately. He wonders, too, if he himself looks the same.

The older man sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a long moment. When he opens them again, looking at Jinwoo between his lashes that are stuck together in small peaks, he answers, “I can’t love you, Jinwoo.” A quiet, steady flow of tears tremble out of him, but Jinwoo chokes out a sob.

“Why not?!” He cries, slamming a fist into the counter. The purple hyacinths shake from the tremors of Jinwoo’s anger and hurt. _I’m sorry. Please forgive me_. Jinwoo takes a deep breath in between his quivering lips, and stares at Myungjun, “What is so wrong about me, that you can’t love?”

Myungjun’s mouth falls open in shock, a little whine creeping from between before a cry, loud, and piercing. His hands ball into fists, and he furiously rubs at his eyes and nose as he sobs. “It’s not you! How could you think it was you, Jinwoo?!” He cries, shoulders quaking. “It’s all me, please, just let me explain,” he begs again, and this time, Jinwoo nods, and lets him talk.

He flips the sign on the front window pane from open to closed, locks the door, too. He settles himself against the doorframe of the backroom, and Myungjun sits cross-legged, sniffling beneath the counter. It’s silent for a while, both boys letting the anger that had boiled in their bellies cool to a simmer.

Myungjun takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes, “You said to me that you moved to the city to live and love freely,” he recites, and though the older man can’t see him, Jinwoo nods. Hums in affirmation, too, because he knows Myungjun is waiting for his response. “I never got to leave, to start again, like you had.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was always told that people like _this_ were wrong, bad people, Jinwoo.” He gestures to himself, vaguely in the space between them, which makes the blond raise his eyebrows. “I was never able to accept myself, or leave the city to start a new life where I can be happy,” he plays with his fingers, and the button of his coat. Sniffs, eyes downcast.

“ _People like this_?” Jinwoo asks, though he knows the answer.

“Gay people,” Myungjun mumbles. “You, and me, I guess.” He draws his knees up to his chest as he says it, rests his chin in the space between his kneecaps, and tries to hold his gaze with the younger boy’s, but fails and drops his head.

Jinwoo can’t help but feel a little offended by Myungjun’s words, though if this is how he feels, he can only imagine what the poor boy had been dealing with his whole life. To go one’s lifespan, hating themselves for something they cannot control, trying desperately to accept this crucial piece of their being – Jinwoo wonders how Myungjun had coped with it for so long.

“So, why did you disappear?” The florist asks, turning to face Myungjun completely. He taps his sneakers against the wooden floor, just to end the deadly silence between their words. “Was it because you couldn’t love me, or you didn’t want too?”

The light-haired boy gazes up at him, now, stare piercing. “I wanted too. More than anything, Jinwoo,” he answers. “I couldn’t, because I couldn’t face that this is who I am, and I didn’t want you to deal with it, either. I didn’t want you to have to worry about me.”

“You know I did, anyway, right?” Jinwoo asks, a small smile on his lips.

Myungjun’s face curves upwards, only by a few degrees, and he nods.

There’s another silence, and Jinwoo asks, “What about the night we slept together?” The older boy shifts, and trembles slightly, but doesn’t cry again. “Why’d you go along with it? I worried that I’d pushed you into it…” Jinwoo mumbles, casting his gaze to the floor.

Myungjun is quick to assure, “No! No, you didn’t. I wanted too.” He says, quietly. “I… I wanted to make love with someone that was important to me. I’d slept with guys before, all that I’d met at a club while too drunk to see in front of me, but it never meant anything… Temptations got the better of me, I suppose,” The man explains, muttering away.

“Did it mean anything with me?” Jinwoo asks quietly, and the words fluttered into the air between them, frail and self-conscious.

Myungjun seems to be filled with wants that never come to fruition. Once again, he says, “I wanted it too.” He shuts his eyes and shuffles backwards a little. “It kinda just felt the same as usual… Because I couldn’t supply the love that I wanted to give to you.”

Jinwoo nods, sighing. “And, what about Areum?”

Myungjun winces. “Oh, yeah. I… I broke up with her, just so you know. I told her about our night together,” he says. “She cried, and I explained everything about, you know, _me_ , and she understood. She was still upset, but she left without wreaking havoc,” he laughs, a watery chuckle huffing out of him.

“Why did you even start dating her?”

“I wanted to pretend that this is who I could be. I figured if I could date a girl that was nice enough, maybe I could forget about being… Like this,” he says, and runs a hand through his hair.

The younger boy frowns, “You’re afraid of saying it, aren’t you?” He states, more than asks, as if he’s sure it’s a fact. Myungjun squints at him, cocking his head to the side, unsure of what he’s asking. “You’re afraid of saying that you’re gay.” His words are soft, not accusing, rather supportive – or, surprised.

The silence is heavy and dense, as Myungjun stares at Jinwoo, a look that screamed a mixture of anger, hurt, and fear. He nods, just once, one dip and rise of his head. And then, Myungjun is crying again. Loud cries echo out of him and into the store.

Jinwoo isn’t sure of what to do – should he comfort him, or just let him be? Should he console him verbally? Deciding on a whim, he shuffles onto his hands and knees, inching forward, testing the waters. He waits by Myungjun’s feet, one hand reaching out to touch his leg, letting the man know he was there.

Myungjun looks up, and almost instantly, shuffles closer to Jinwoo, and wraps his arms around the younger man. At first, the blond is taken aback, almost stumbling back onto the floor – but, he manages to catch the both of them, and secures Myungjun in his hold, letting him settle in his lap.

The older man cries into Jinwoo’s shoulder, hands clutched around his back, sobs quietening with each rub of Jinwoo’s palm down his spine. One of Jinwoo’s hands reaches up into Myungjun’s hair, gently massaging his head, and he shushes him with the sound between his teeth, and whispers of _It’s okay, I’m here_.

They remain like this, a tangle of limbs in a heap on the floor of the shop, until the only light is that of the streetlights outside. The pair finally pull apart, though Jinwoo’s hold stays plastered around Myungjun’s waist, one hand on the small of his back, and the other smoothing over the space between his shoulder blades. “Are you okay?” he asks, when Myungjun wipes a hand over his puffy face before dropping both to Jinwoo’s chest.

The older man nods, smiling lightly. “Thank you,” he whispers, and rubs the collar of Jinwoo’s shirt between his thumb and fore-finger. Neither of them speak, after that, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, Myungjun rises, grabbing the bouquet of purple hyacinths and dropping carefully back into Jinwoo’s lap. He holds the hyacinths out for Jinwoo once again, though this time, his face is curved upwards in happiness. There’s a spark of uncertainty in his gaze, and Jinwoo decides to tamp it down by taking the bouquet in his hands.

Myungjun’s grin that follows is brighter than the sun had been for the entirety of Winter, Jinwoo believes. “Do you remember what it means?” He asks again, and Jinwoo nods.

“I don’t need to forgive you, MJ,” he says, and Myungjun’s face twists in confusion. “The things you did hurt me, and they hurt Areum, too – but you’ve given me your reasons, and I understand. I feel better, now.”

Myungjun’s fingers reach down between them to play with the petals of the hyacinth. “Just forgive me – It’ll make me feel better,” he whines, a smirk tugging on his lips.

The blond rolls his eyes, “You’re forgiven,” he mutters, but can’t help the grin that climbs onto his face.

The older boy grins, and before a silence can hang between them again, he sucks in a deep breath, “I have something to ask you, Jinwoo,” he mutters, resting his hands onto the younger’s shoulders. Jinwoo nods, waiting. “It may take me a while… To accept myself, to accept that I’m… _Gay_ …” He begins, stumbling over his words slightly.

Jinwoo grins, a silent cheer for the boy who’d already taken the first step towards self-acceptance. He brings up a hand to cup the side of Myungjun’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the plush of the older man’s cheeks.

“Will you help me, Park Jinwoo, by being my ultra-supportive and loving boyfriend?” He asks, voice dipping at the ends of his words, nerves cutting into his tone. Myungjun’s nervous smile carves into his cheek and make it nudge the inside of Jinwoo’s palm.

Jinwoo’s mouth opens into a wide grin, cheeks dusted pink. He reaches into the bouquet and pulls out one purple hyacinth, and holds it before Myungjun. _In tradition_ , he thinks to himself. “If you, Kim Myungjun, promise to be the ultra-happy and playful boy that I met last Spring,” he replies, cheeks red.

Myungjun takes the flower in his grasp, eyes wide and sparkling. “I promise,” he answers, and Jinwoo watches as his eyes flicker along every detail of his face. Beginning from his eyes, observing the threads of gold and brown that weave together, before climbing over the arch of his eyebrows, down to the rise of his nose, and finally, the curve of his lips. “C-Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, and the younger boy nods, leaning up to close the gap between them.

This kiss is different to their first – this one is loving, soft, gentle, and patient. This kiss gathers every ounce of their love into the space where they meet, and makes their hearts beat fast in the sudden flood of warmth. Myungjun’s arms wrap around Jinwoo’s neck, and Jinwoo moves one hand back into Myungjun’s tangle of hair, and the other on the small of his back.

As they pull apart, staring into each other’s glistening eyes, Myungjun lets out a little giggle when their foreheads press together. “Shall I walk you home, MJ?” Jinwoo asks, breath fanning against the older boy’s pink lips.

“Just a little longer, JinJin,” he replies, and presses their lips together again.

+

Plucking two of the flowers from the vase in the centre of the table, Jinwoo places purple hyacinths in the centre of the page of a crisp, clean journal. Pressing the book closed, he throws Moonbin’s journal and Dongmin’s art encyclopaedia on top, along with a couple of his old favourite books.

Dongmin watches on, sipping lazily at a coffee Bin had made for him. “I’m gonna need that encyclopaedia back,” he mumbles, disgruntled, as Jinwoo had stolen it.

The older boy shrugs, “Not for another seven to ten days, according to Google.” He straightens out the books that sit on top of the journal, “I want it them to look really pretty, okay? They have to be perfect.”

Moonbin settles himself in the seat beside Dongmin, pressing a kiss to the part in Dongmin’s hair, and drinking his own coffee. “What’s he doing?” He asks, question aimed at his boyfriend.

“Flower pressing.”

“Flower pressing,” the two say at the same time, though Jinwoo tacks onto the end, “For Myungjun.”

The couple stare at him, eyes widening, jaws dropped open. Moonbin splutters over the coffee in his mouth, “Wait. What?”

“Myungjun?”

Jinwoo nods, grinning. “He came to see me last night, and we talked, and we sorted everything out.” He says, lifting his fingers up to play with the petals of the hyacinth centre piece. “He got me these flowers, they mean sorry. I guess today is our second day.”

Dongmin blinks rapidly, confused, but doesn’t say anything. Bin sits back in his chair, one hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Well, I’m happy for you both. You’ve both had a rough run,” he smiles gently, “It was bound to end happily.”

The black-haired boy gathers his thoughts, and agrees. “That’s wonderful news,” he grins. There’s a silence in the room for a moment, before he says, “Should we go on a triple date, with Sanha and Minhyuk, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i hope you enjoyed!! i hope you feel warm inside, and i hope you feel warm in the next chapter too!!! (also i changed my url on tumblr so HMU HMU @parkjinchu xxx)


	16. Spring; Receiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IVE BEEN SO BUSY AND I WENT THROUGH AN AWFUL EPISODE BUT IM BACK!! i decided, whilst writing this chapter that im inconsistent... lmao theres still a few chapters left lolol sorry yall

_Day 21_

When the last of the snow melts, and the first flower petals flourish from their buds, Myungjun asks to meet in the park. Jinwoo finds him in the far corner, sitting in a patch of long grass, wildflowers already in bloom waving in the breeze on every side of him.

Jinwoo reckons it looks like the scene from a movie, something someone would only see, perhaps, in a romance book. A beautiful boy, sun shining through his hair and over his face as if it were shining out of him, surrounded by flowers. He also reckons that forgetting this sight would be a waste, so he takes a capture in his mind and embeds it into the far corners of his memory.

Kim Myungjun sits cross legged in the grass, phone out before him, _How to make a Daisy Chain_ on the screen. He gazes back and forth between the instructions and the flowers in his hands, until he hears Jinwoo step closer, and looks up at him.

“Ah,” he swoons, patting the grass beside him. “My boyfriend! Come here, I wanna show you something,” he mutters, and Jinwoo falls onto the ground beside him. “I forgot how to make flower chains, I was taught when I was a kid,” he explains, and grabs another stem.

“You invited me out to see this?” Jinwoo asks. There’s no spite to his tone, he’s just intrigued. He’s quite grateful, too, after having spent his morning wishing he were with Myungjun instead of holed up in his flat.

“Do I need an excuse for wanting to see you?” Myungjun smiles, teasing.

Jinwoo watches his hands delicately braid the stems of the flowers together. His nimble fingers move as if with practiced ease, steady and deliberate. Eventually, he pushes the stems through the beginning of the braid, so they create a large circle. Shuffling closer to Jinwoo, he places the piece on the crown of Jinwoo’s head, the garland lopsided on his hair. “Pretty,” he mutters, “Like a prince.”

This makes Jinwoo laugh, as he brings his fingers up to play with the intricate crown. The petals are soft beneath his fingers. He feels a sense of pride, to wear the garland that Myungjun had made with his own bare hands. “You need one, too, then,” Jinwoo suggests, picking a few of the flowers from the bottoms of their stems. “If it’s fit for a prince.”

Myungjun leans over him, helping his fingers work their way around the thin stems without snapping them. Jinwoo carefully braids and positions each flower together, though the finished product is rather wonky and messy, a few stems slipping out of their places. The older boy loves it nonetheless, and sits it atop his own head.

“Two princes,” Jinwoo chimes, and Myungjun grabs his hand with a grin shining on his lips.

_Day 50_

_“I want to celebrate every milestone, JinJin,”_ Myungjun mutters down the telephone, _“Let’s go on a date!”_

50 days was hardly a milestone – to Jinwoo, it felt like celebrating a half-birthday. Though, Myungjun seemed very passionate about his first relationship, and Jinwoo was going to take all the steps necessary to make Myungjun happy.

“MJ, I have to work, darling,” Jinwoo replies, already stepping inside the shop. Sanha stands before him, shovel in one hand, and a scowl on his face. “I _really_ want to go on a date with you, though.” He glances hopefully to the lanky teenager, who crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.

_“Ah, Jinwoo! Come on, just skip, give your shift to Sanha – I’m sure he won’t mind. I really wanna see you!”_

The two are playing a game, Myungjun on speakerphone for Sanha to hear. Talking in high-pitched voices, with pet-names adorning almost every sentence, just to annoy the poor kid into surrendering.

“I wanna see you, too,” Jinwoo whines, pouting at the teenager. “After all, when Sanha and Minhyuk started dating, I let them run off on dates all the time!”

The boy blushes, eyes widening. He seems to debate with himself, now, whether he should give Jinwoo a day off in return, or not.

_“Mm, it’d only be fair if Sanha did the same for you!”_

Sanha steps over to the phone, barking into the speaker. “Fine! Go, I’ll just be lonely all day by myself,” he groans, stomping his foot.

“Thank you, Sanha!”

_“Thank you, Sanha!”_

Jinwoo hangs up and rushes out the door, and around the corner where Myungjun is waiting, giggling mischievously. The younger man catches Myungjun in his arms, securing him in a warm hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Happy 50 days,” he mutters, lips brushing over the light fringe.

“Happy 50 days, dork. Let’s go on a date,” the older boy says, clutching Jinwoo’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

They walk together, hand in hand, chatting quietly between themselves, until they reach the inner city where more people flutter around the pavement. Myungjun quietly releases Jinwoo’s hand, letting their hands fall to their own sides, but Jinwoo understands. He smiles over at the boy, who grins right back. As they reach the park, the see the buds of flowers growing along the arch at the park’s entrance. The flowerbeds that line the paths are also dotted with budding flowers, and Myungjun says, as their shoulders brush together, “Ah, look, a flower path, just for us!”

An ice-cream cart is perched on the corner between the forestry and the children’s playground. Together, they buy a cone, and settle in the corner of the greenspace. The sun glistens over a little pond, where baby ducks follow their mothers around in swirling trails. A butterfly hovers past them, as they snuggle into each other on the grass.

“It feels like Spring,” Myungjun mutters, pulling off his sweater. He sits it in his lap, and shuffles even closer to Jinwoo’s side. There’s no one around to see them, they both notice after a quick survey of the area. Myungjun grins, and presses an ice-cream kiss to Jinwoo’s cheek; cold and sweet, and a little sticky.

Before the older boy can even begin to giggle at Jinwoo’s shocked face, Jinwoo quickly leans in and presses a kiss to the man’s lips. Myungjun squeaks in surprise, and pulls away with wide eyes, but a smile splitting the lower half of his face, beaming. Jinwoo grins, as he pulls away, and mutters, “I think Spring is my favourite season!”

+

_Day 84_

The cherry blossoms line the pathways in long, pink rows, painting the city pink. Petals fly through the air, gathering over the ponds in the park like a thin pastel veil. The day they bloom, Myungjun wakes tucked under Jinwoo’s arm. Jinwoo had already been awake, watching his boyfriend sleep peacefully.

When Myungjun sleeps, the pillow of his cheek squashes up as it presses against Jinwoo’s chest. His lips twitch, as if he might go to say something, the person he is in his dreams communicating. Myungjun’s eyelids flutter, long and curled eyelashes quivering gently. His fingers move and curl, and at one point, the boy snuggles closer to Jinwoo and lays his hand flat against his chest. Jinwoo wonders if Myungjun can feel his heart beat a little faster.

Eventually, the older boy wakes, eyes blinking open, dopey and puffy face coming back to consciousness. When he sees Jinwoo watching him, he smiles brightly, a beaming grin lifting his entire face. “Good morning,” he mutters, voice husky with sleep. He stretches, much like a sleepy puppy, before curling back in onto Jinwoo.

Jinwoo swoons, tugging the man further into his arms, wrapping his legs around Myungjun’s to snatch him closer. He mumbles into the man’s collarbone, “How did I score such a cute boyfriend?!” Myungjun chuckles, pushing the boy’s head back and pressing a firm kiss to his forehead.

He must be able to see outside, through the cracks in the blinds, as he gasps, and cries, “They’ve bloomed! The cherry blossoms have bloomed!” He leaps out of Jinwoo’s warm arms, and waddles across the mattress, lifting the blinds over his head and ducking behind them. Jinwoo hears him sigh, a wistful and peaceful sound echoing out of the boy.

Jinwoo follows after him, tucking his head behind the blinds and perching it beside Myungjun’s, peering through the glass. He was right – the lone blossom tree on his street seems to glisten beneath the morning sun, pink coated branches swaying in the breeze. Jinwoo turns his head to look at Myungjun, excitement glistening in his eyes, that reflected the pink colour of the world outside.

“Shall we go on a date?” Jinwoo asks, and Myungjun manages to pull his eyes away from the sight outside to look right back at him.

“Of course!”

The petals fall gracefully to the ground, like twirling ballerinas as they scatter across the pavement. Myungjun holds Jinwoo’s hand tight in his grasp, refusing to let go. His face is happy, bright and charming, and Jinwoo spots no trace of apprehensiveness in his gaze. This feeling, that comes with their hands connected and not torn apart by a sliver of regret, is bubbling in Jinwoo’s chest and makes the world feel as if it’s going in slow motion.

A petal falls in Myungjun’s hair, in the crown of his fluffy fringe. Jinwoo laughs, plucking it out with his free hand and blowing it away into the wind. The older boy laughs, patting the top of his head awkwardly, before watching the petal fly away. “Did you make a wish?” he asks, as they continue walking.

“You don’t make wishes on petals!” Jinwoo chuckles, gently bumping his shoulder against Myungjun’s. The man grins back at him, giggles falling from between his lips. Jinwoo feels a swelling in his heart, warm and strong. A sticky feeling of love, sickeningly sweet like honey, oozing within his chest. He can’t help the words that slip out of his mouth, as if with practiced ease, “You’re so cute, MJ. I love you.”

Jinwoo watches carefully as his boyfriend stops in his spot, a shocked expression slowly melting into a delighted and rising one. Myungjun lets out a soft giggle that bubbles out of him, and he mumbles in reply, “I love you, too,” before his cheeks turn red and he must hide his smirking and red face away.

Jinwoo gasps, gripping Myungjun’s hand tighter, and restraining his hands from petting the poor man. “Gosh. Oh, my gosh. You’re so cute! How did you get so cute?” He babbles, which makes them both laugh. Jinwoo’s heart feels champagne; warm and sparkling. He savours this feeling, this one of love, as they continue down the pathway arched with pink blossoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading everyone!! please look forward to the coming chapters! chat with me on my [tumblr](parkjinchu.tumblr.com) or [my new twitter](twitter.com/parkjinchu)!


	17. The Second Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second year that Jinwoo and Myungjun know each other.  
> Or, The One Before The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll give everyone my loving thank you notes in the final chapter <3 thank you for sticking around!  
> (ALSO I FUCKED UP IN THE LAST CHAPTER SO YOU HAVE TO READ THE WEIRD SMUT AGAIN WARNING ALLUSIONS TO SMUT)

_Day 100_

Unintentionally, their 100th Day Anniversary begins with making love.

Jinwoo presses kisses along the expanse of Myungjun’s chest and stomach, up along the curve of his neck and the sharp hill of his chin, onto his puffy cheeks and then down his jaw, creating a maze along the older man’s body until he reaches his pink lips. Myungjun returns each kiss, lazy smooches across Jinwoo’s wide shoulders, and in the corners of his mouth.

He speaks words of love, sweet nothings that stutter out of his mouth and dance between them. The fragmented sentences, interrupted by exclamations of his being pleasured, echo in Jinwoo’s mind; he wishes he could hear them forever. Myungjun clutches onto him, reaching out his fingers for anything they can touch on Jinwoo’s body.

Jinwoo carries him over the edge, let’s the older man fall into his chest with deep and heavy pants and pitchy whines, patting his matted hair down and pressing kisses into his temple. This time, Myungjun comments with kisses to Jinwoo’s face and neck, that it had ‘really felt like _love_ ’. They lay together, clung to each other’s sides, pressing lazy kisses anywhere they can reach.

They decide to cancel their plans, instead resting between the sheets for the length of the day, snacking and chatting to each other until the sunset paints orange patterns onto Jinwoo’s walls. Jinwoo walks Myungjun home, but his intention to return home to his own flat is forgotten, along with the t-shirt he leaves there.

(It’s thrown into the _Jinwoo Drawer_ , as lovingly named by Myungjun, which includes one novelty sock and one of Myungjun’s shirts that Jinwoo had claimed towards the beginning of their relationship. Respectively, Myungjun has his own _Myungjun Drawer_ in Jinwoo’s apartment, but really, it’s a _Myungjun Cupboard_.)

_Day 109_

            **From: MJ (* 3*)**

**** _Come over._

**To: MJ (* 3*)**

_You okay? <3_

            **From: MJ (* 3*)**

_Violently ill. Need cuddles :(_

**To: MJ (* 3*)**

**** _And some soup?_

**From: MJ (* 3*)**

_Only if Bin makes it :^P_

            **To: MJ (* 3*)**

_I’m not terrible at making soup, you know. That was one time!! It didn’t even taste THAT bad!_

Read 9:47

            _Fine, I’ll bring Bin’s soup. And my soft blanket. Because I know you’ll ask me to go back for it, since you like it so much._

**From: MJ (* 3*)**

**** _THANK YOU BABY <3_

_Day 168_

Myungjun taps his foot against the kitchen tiles, staring into space as he sips on his coffee. Beside him, Jinwoo admires his profile, the curving line over the side of his face, and the sharp corners of his big and bright eyes. His hand fits on the small of Myungjun’s back, occasionally sliding up and over the hills of his spine, comfortingly.

However, his boyfriend doesn’t seem to respond to the touch as he usually would, which is nuzzling closer and asking for more. Instead, Myungjun stares at the crack in Jinwoo’s wall, created after Bin ‘accidentally’ kicked it many months ago.

Jinwoo reaches a hand up to his boyfriend’s head, curling his fingers in the hair that comes to a point at the nape of Myungjun’s neck. “Myungjun, honey… Is everything okay?”

The older man jumps in his seat a little, at the call of his name. Trying to keep his cool, he takes a long sip of his coffee and nods gently. “Everything’s fine,” he replies, but he meets Jinwoo’s inquisitive eye, a look that says ‘ _you know you can tell me everything, right?_ ’ in his gaze. Myungjun sighs, and twists on his chair to face Jinwoo. The younger boy places a hand above Myungjun’s knee, rubbing his thumb along the denim of his jeans.

“I’ve just… Been thinking,” he begins, playing with a strand of hair in his fringe, that appeared to be slightly longer than the others.

Jinwoo hums.

“I think… I should… Come out to my parents,” he mutters, words tumbling out of his mouth. His cheeks turn pink, and he frantically grabs for his mug and takes another long sip of his warm drink. Jinwoo raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little straighter, and Myungjun immediately defends himself – “It’s just, we’ve been dating for more than six months now, and we’re in love! And, I’ve kept this a secret from my parents for so long, even though I knew that this is who I was the entire time, and, and-.”

Jinwoo chuckles gently, pulling the man into his arms and shushing his rambling with a pat on his back. He’s wearing the sweater he’d once left behind here, that night before they got together. It doesn’t smell much like Myungjun anymore, Jinwoo realised a few days ago; now it smells like his own washing detergent.

“Are you sure?” Jinwoo asks, carefully, pushing Myungjun’s fringe out of his eyes. “This is… A big thing, MJ. Especially… Your parents…” He says slowly, and Myungjun grabs his hands.

“I know my parents are not the most supportive, to say the least. But, you are a crucial part of my life, Jinwoo, and this is who I am. Don’t you think they deserve to know?” He asks, searching for something in Jinwoo’s eyes. “Even if they hate me for who I am, I’ve had time to think about it. I would rather be happy without them, then living a lie with them.”

Smiling softly, Jinwoo squeezes his hand. He decides he has two options: firstly, tell Myungjun it’s a terrible idea and to stay in hiding, ultimately forcing him into secrecy and sadness. Or, secondly, support him whether the outcome is good or bad. He decides the latter is more appropriate and far less dramatic. “Do you need me to come with you?” He asks gently.

Myungjun’s face pulls into a grin. “Yes, please,” he says, and leans forward to press a long kiss to Jinwoo’s lips. “Thank you,” he mumbles, before standing. “I’ll, uh, give them a ring,” he grabs his phone from the table, shooting Jinwoo a weary glance as he hears the dial tone.

_“Ah, hi Mum, hi Dad.”_

_“No, I’m great, how are you?”_

_“Yeah, we haven’t caught up in a long time. I was thinking we should have lunch, or dinner, soon.”_

_“Is it okay if I, uh, bring a friend?”_

 

_Day 188_

“Okay, so compliment my mother on her jewellery, she loves that shit. And, my father doesn’t like soccer, only baseball – actually, don’t bring up any sport with him. He’ll go on and on forever,” Myungjun says, smoothing out Jinwoo’s shirt over his chest. “Also, my brother is hardly ever home, so it’s kind of nice to have him around, so-.”

“Myungjun!” Jinwoo laughs, tugging the boy’s hands away from his shoulder, where he wipes imaginary lint away. “Everything will be okay, alright? We’ve got everything under control, Love,” he whispers, and presses a peck above Myungjun’s eyebrow.

The older man sighs, dropping his hands. “I’m just nervous, is all,” he mumbles, and watches his parents front door as it seems to loom over them.

“You’re supposed to be,” Jinwoo assures, rubbing his upper arm. “I’m here. Let’s do this,” he cheers, and gives Myungjun a gentle push, so that the boy knocks on the door.

Myungjun curls his fist and raps on the door, and it quickly opens to reveal a man and a woman, both of whom are just passed their middle-aged classification. The woman cheers, taking Myungjun under her arm and giving him a kiss on his cheek. The man ruffles his hair and welcomes him home. As Myungjun pulls away, he gestures to Jinwoo, “Mum, Dad, this is my friend, Jinwoo.”

When introduced as a _friend_ , now, Jinwoo notices it doesn’t leave a pang in his chest as it used too. Once, when he’d been called nothing but a friend, he’d felt a deep and twisting sorrow. Now, he feels a flood of encouragement toward his boyfriend, for taking this leap of faith in himself and in their relationship.

Jinwoo grins, bows deeply for the both Myungjun’s parents, and is welcomed inside with bright smiles. To be welcomed inside Myungjun’s childhood home is a pleasure, one that Jinwoo hopes isn’t the last time he’ll receive it. Photos of Myungjun as a child scatter the walls and coffee tables, a small boy with eternal scrapes on his knees and messy hair, that same cheesy smile fixed on his lips even now.

Before dinner, Myungjun quietly leads them to his childhood bedroom. There’s a small bed pressed into the corner of the room, with a stuffed toy rested against the pillow. His chest of drawers has clothes leaking out of the edges, and his desk is cluttered with paperwork (that when Jinwoo glances over, is high school exam papers). Posters of bands from a few years ago are stuck around the room, along with little trinkets and pictures of various friends.

Jinwoo grins to himself – this is where Myungjun grew into the person he is now. This is where Kim Myungjun became himself.

Myungjun shuts the door behind them, and comes up behind Jinwoo, wrapping his hands around to join by the shorter boy’s front. “Welcome to my childhood and teenaged bedroom,” he mutters gently, glancing around. There’s a silence for a moment as they observe the room together, looking over Myungjun’s trophies and toys. He spins Jinwoo around in his grasp, and holds him by his jaw, cupping it softly. “I need a kiss – I haven’t gotten one, in like, four hours,” he urges.

The younger boy grins, leaning in to kiss him. This kiss is exciting, knowing that it’s something forbidden and secret in this moment. He smiles into the kiss, feeling his lips curl up around Myungjun’s. “Stop smiling so big, Jinwoo,” Myungjun whispers between them. “We can’t kiss properly if you do that,” he teases, though now he’s smiling just as vibrantly.

Myungjun’s mother makes a marvellous feast for dinner, feeding the four boys as if they’d never eaten a day in their lives. Conversation falls over the table, and Jinwoo begins to wonder if Myungjun will say anything about their relationship at all to them, until Myungjun’s father asks his brother a question.

“How’s your girlfriend?” He asks, and Jinwoo sits in silence as he listens to the family interact.

“She’s great! We just moved in together, bought an apartment near her hospital,” he smiles, taking a big bite of his food. “She’s a wonderful nurse, and has been working really hard.”

Myungjun grins, “That’s nice,” he says, kindly to his brother.

“And, what about you, Myungjun?” His mother asks, from the opposite side of the table. “Have you got a girl, yet?” There’s a mischievous glistening in her eyes, but it makes Jinwoo’s stomach flip over with nerves.

The boy coughs awkwardly, and beneath the table, Jinwoo nudges their knees together; a silent and secret way of saying, _I’m here!_ Myungjun doesn’t look at him, instead down to his plate where he shifts a piece of food. “Uh, sorta?” He answers, though it trickles out of him like an unsure question.

“Sorta?” His brother asks. “Don’t tell me it’s, like, a friends-with-benefits thing,” he chuckles. Jinwoo feels nervousness grip at his stomach, pulling on his insides. He can only imagine what Myungjun is feeling.

“No. No, it’s not like that!” He laughs awkwardly, and then there’s a short silence as he pieces together his next sentence. “It’s a serious relationship. It’s just, uh… Not a…” Myungjun takes a glance at Jinwoo, who replies with an encouraging smile. “Not a _girl_ ,” he mumbles, and stares at a stain on the table cloth, as if it is the most interesting thing he’d even seen.

A heavy, deep silence falls over the table. Jinwoo’s scared to even move, as not a single scraping of utensil or chewing of food is heard. He wonders if the rest of the world outside the house is in shock, too, as he can’t hear the rush of traffic, anymore, over the blood pumping in his ears.

Myungjun’s mother is the first to speak, a little squeak of, “Not a girl?” falling out of her mouth. Her lips blubber, as if she were trying to catch the words back into her mouth because she hadn’t meant to say them. Even so, she continues, “You’re… in a serious relationship… With a boy?”

Myungjun nods stiffly, not lifting his head. Jinwoo sits in silence, watching the rest of the family. His mother chews on her thumbnail, watching Myungjun carefully, in case he might leap into the air and shout, ‘Just Kidding!’. His father covers his mouth with his hand, eyes piercing right through Myungjun’s head. His brother just smiles gently, and begins to eat in silence again.

“With who?” Myungjun’s father asks, “Do we know _him_?” He bites, and Jinwoo wishes he could say ‘ _it’s me! He’s in love with me! And, I’m in love with him!_ ’ but he refrains, begging for the situation to diffuse shortly. Beneath the table, where their knees meet, Jinwoo gives his leg a gentle shake, a silent way of telling Myungjun to finally confess.

Myungjun looks up at him, eyes watering, but curved upwards from his bright smile. “Yeah, you do,” he says to his family members. “It’s Jinwoo,” he answers quietly, and let’s his family members put the pieces together. The couple share a gaze, one lit with confidence and love, and Jinwoo reaches his hand under the table to clutch at Myungjun’s.

Myungjun’s older brother laughs gently, “I don’t know why you’re both so shocked,” he mutters to his parents, mocking them. “I thought it was pretty obvious when they walked in. I figured they _at least_ had a thing for each other,” he boasts, and smiles brightly at Myungjun. Jinwoo notices that their smiles are almost identical, if not for the fact that Myungjun’s shines like the sun, whereas his brother’s seems like just another fixture on his face.

“Mum, Dad,” Myungjun says, huffing out an awkward laugh. “Say something,” he demands, and laces his fingers with Jinwoo’s.

His mother looks up at him, from between her fingers, and asks, “H-How long for? Is it really serious?”

“More than six months, now,” Myungjun answers immediately, to all three members of his family. “It’s very serious. I love Jinwoo, and he loves me,” he states proudly, grin shining between his cheeks. Jinwoo grins right back, squeezing onto Myungjun’s hand tightly.

Myungjun’s father says nothing, simply continues to eat, without looking up. However, his mother smiles shortly, “It’s a shock,” she mutters, and the boy nods in understanding. She takes a deep breath, glancing between the two boys. “I’m – I’m happy for you,” she says, a little tight sounding, and her smile trembles, but she stands by her word.

“I love you, mum,” Myungjun says, and she says it right back.

On the way home, Myungjun can’t stop smiling. He seems to ignore his father’s reaction, focusing on his brother’s guesses and his mother’s warmth. He swings their connected hands between them, chatting to Jinwoo all the way back to Jinwoo’s flat. He goes to sleep that night, muttering something about feeling complete, before drifting to sleep on Jinwoo’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey pls go check out my [tumblr](parkjinchu.tumblr.com) or [twitter](twitter.com/parkjinchu) to cry with me that this only has one chapter left oh my god


	18. Epilogue; The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight in to the future of six (and more) lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. Here we go.  
> Wow, this is an emotional time for me.  
> As this is my first ever completed lengthy fic, I'd like to give all the lovely readers of this fic a very big thank you. Thank you, whether you only read one chapter, or whether you waited on the edge of your seat and in my comment section for a new chapter. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, for supporting me and The Year We Met.  
> I've been met with an overwhelming amount of love and support from you guys, I can't even believe it.  
> I had always been worried that the day I finish a story will never come - but I am here, writing you all this thank you message. Once again, thank you for supporting me and the characters I wove from real people in this story.   
> I hope you enjoy the final chapter of The Year We Met, and I hope you look forward to more stories from me.  
> Love,  
> Mary :)

Myungjun hauls the final box into the room destined to be their new living space. For the last week, a bedroom with nothing but some sleeping space had been set out for them. Dropping the box labelled _Decorations_ onto the floor, the man shuffles through the maze of cardboard boxes and settles himself on the couch that sit in the middle of the floor. Like a boat lost in a chaotic ocean, Myungjun seeks his refuge atop the cushions, splaying himself out.

Their new home.

From here, he can see Jinwoo chatting with the moving truck driver, grin spread broad across his rosy cheeks. The sun shines down on his skin, illuminating him in a golden glow. It reminds Myungjun much of their first meeting, and the adventure they’d been on together since. In fact, in a few weeks, they’ll celebrate their fourth anniversary.

In the five years they’d known each other and fallen in love, their journey had taken them on a winding and bumpy path. Myungjun was young and confused, and _scared_ , but Jinwoo had the courage to support them both for the sake of their blossoming love. Myungjun thinks he could never repay Jinwoo’s kindness, but Jinwoo reckons there’s no need too, as long as they’re side-by-side.

Now, they live together in their very own home. Without Bin and Dongmin in the room over, without a neighbour on the other side of their paper-thin walls, and without all the stairs to their apartment. This abode resides on the edge of the city, large enough for their family, and to host their friends.

By the window, their baby, Haneul, bounces himself in a Baby Bouncer, feet patting against the carpet, and rattling a toy wrapped in his tiny palm. He looks up at Myungjun, wide eyes inquisitive, searching over the new environment. Myungjun wonders if he misses living with Dongmin and Bin, who spoilt him with all their love they had to give.

Myungjun slips off the couch, making his way through the sea of unopened boxes and over to the near-toddler, who babbles something about _Dada_ as he peers out the window. Myungjun bends down and pulls him out of the bouncer, cradling Haneul in his arms and holding him up to the window. “Can you see Dada outside, Haneul?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the plush of his cheeks. “Can you see him?”

Haneul, though holding neither of their genes in his blood, looks up to them and knows them as nothing but his parents. His little nose is a petite curving slope, a little button in the centre of his face. His round eyes are framed with long eyelashes, that splay out until the sharp closing corners of his eyelids. His little pink lips are always curled in a cheeky grin, softened to a gentle smile when he sleeps.

The boy points as he spots Jinwoo on the pavement, waving the moving truck off. As the man turns back, he spots the two in the window and scurries over, waving to the baby in Myungjun’s arms. Myungjun draws Haneul closer to the glass, and the boy presses his chubby star shaped hands against the glass. His Dad does the same, the window they only layer between their two hands touching, and Myungjun’s heart floods with warm affection.

A family he’d always wanted, finally here.

When Jinwoo comes inside, Myungjun wades through the boxed collections of their possessions to greet him. Haneul grasps out for the man, who wraps them both in a hug. Myungjun holds the baby in one hand and winds the other around Jinwoo’s waist, so that Haneul is comfortably sandwiched in their warmth.

Jinwoo nuzzles his face into Myungjun’s neck, mumbling, “Look at our new home.” His voice holds wonder, and traces of restraint. Myungjun had learnt over their years together, that Jinwoo tended to hold back emotionally, though he practically overflowed and burst with a range of feelings. This strained voice of his signalled a wave of his affection.

Giggling, the older man whispers, “You can cry, Jinwoo, it’s okay,” he assures, patting the space between his shoulder blades gently.

The blond nods gratefully, letting a few tears cascade down his face and over his smile. He runs his thumbs over Haneul’s cheeks, pressing a soft kiss to his tiny forehead. He does the same to Myungjun, who doesn’t let him leave without a peck on his lips, too. “I love you,” he says to Myungjun, against his plump lips, before turning to the child in their arms and saying the same in a high-pitched voice.

“The rest of the boys will be here to check the house out, soon,” Myungjun tells him, handing the baby over and letting Jinwoo cradle him. “Let’s start unpacking a little bit, before they arrive, yeah?” He suggests, stepping back over to the _Decorations_ box. “I want the picture of us, and the framed flowers, up above the fireplace, first. To mark it being _our_ house, you know?”

Jinwoo simply grins, and hoists Haneul onto his hip.

Pulling them out, Myungjun reveals a large framed photo of their family, the two boys with their son between them. Taken a few months ago, Haneul had grown quite a lot since then, both in height and girth (and cheekiness). He has a smile pushing between his chubby cheeks, both of which have kisses pressed against them from their fathers. In the corner, tucked into the framing, is a small picture of the day the Myungjun and Jinwoo had first called Haneul their son.

He was swaddled in soft blue cloth, that he sleeps with in his cradle, a tiny beanie bobbling on his head from the cold Autumn day. Back then, he couldn’t smile, or grab for his fathers’ hair, or chase his parent’s heels and call for their names. However, his presence alone had filled the two with so much warmth that it overflowed in tears out of their eyes. In the image, their cheeks are stained red, smiles jutting into the red tracks as they stare at the boy.

In his hand, he also reveals a small photo frame, without a photo in the centre. Instead, rested carefully between a cream piece of card and the glass, are two pressed purple hyacinths.

From the day they claimed as their first, after many apologies and blessings of forgiveness and kisses, two flowers of the _Please Forgive Me_ hyacinth lay laminated in the frame. Jinwoo had given these pressed flowers to Myungjun as a gift on their first year anniversary, the colours still vibrant and shape still proud and tall.

Myungjun hurries over to the fireplace and props the frames up on the ledge, shuffling them so they sit side by side in the centre, on display for everyone to see. “ _Now_ ,” Myungjun says, unable to tear his eyes away. “Now, it’s _really_ our home.”

Dongmin and Moonbin arrive first, as Jinwoo is putting glasses into the kitchen cupboard and Myungjun is packing away plates. Haneul is splayed out on a rug, building blocks and toy instruments in his grasp, when the men walk in. He looks up at them and squeals, excited screech bubbling out of him as he reaches out to them. Dongmin scoops him up in his arms, pressing a kiss to his hair. “How is my Nephew Haneul?” He asks, carrying him into the kitchen, following Bin.

“This house is amazing,” Moonbin says, gawking. As his boyfriend comes up behind him, Dongmin pushes his jaw shut with a giggle. “It’s kinda lonely back at the flat, without you two and baby Haneul,” he says, to which Dongmin agrees. Haneul grabs at his cheeks, tugging at them with his tiny hands. Dongmin pulls a face at the boy, which makes him laugh and squirm.

The two had shared a special bond when living together. Dongmin had adored the baby from day one, and always offered to care for him. Haneul had quite the attachment to his ‘uncle’, too, so much so that Myungjun had admitted he was scared Haneul’s first word would be Dongmin’s name (luckily, his first word was ‘puppy’, after spotting some at a park one day and repeating what his Papa Myungjun had told him).

“Oh, really?” Jinwoo asks, handing Dongmin Haneul’s pacifier, as the boy started to get restless in his grasp. The baby eagerly accepts the gift, the plastic bobbing between his lips for a moment after Dongmin pops it into his mouth. “Are you going to get a flatmate?”

Myungjun, on the floor, peers over the counter. “You don’t even miss the 3 AM crying?” he jokes, interrupting Jinwoo’s question.

“It’s not like we’ll get to see it off for much longer,” Dongmin smirks, peering over at Moonbin. Bin grins back at him, mischief glistening in his eyes. “Show them,” he encourages. Bin bends down to the floor to fetch his backpack, and from within, he retrieves a paper envelope. As he hands it over to Jinwoo; it’s already torn along the top half.

Raising an eyebrow at the couple, Jinwoo tentatively takes the letter in his hand. Myungjun peers over his shoulder, gasping at the cursive text written across the front.

 _Adoption Agency_.

Jinwoo hurries to retrieve the papers within, and reads over the few lines of text that declare Bin and Dongmin legal parents to an unborn baby. Settled between the letter of confirmation and the legal documents, is one small ultrasound scan. A little black and white blob in the centre of another, with something that looks like an arm or a nose poking out.

“You’re going to be dads?” Myungjun asks, eyes wide, smile crawling onto his lips.

“You’re going to be dads?” Jinwoo repeats, tearing up. He brings a hand to cover his mouth, holding the scan in his other, unable to peel his eyes away.

“Oh my God, Jinwoo,” Moonbin rolls his eyes, and snatches the picture out of his hands, smirk toying on his lips nonetheless. “You’re only one year older than Dongmin, but you’re behaving like a grandfather,” he chortles, and tucks the envelope back into his backpack.

Dongmin cuts into the conversation, running a hand over Haneul’s soft hair, bouncing the boy in his lap. “Yes, to a baby girl, we believe,” he answers.

“You’re going to be fantastic dads,” Jinwoo mutters, wiping uselessly at his eyes. Myungjun giggles, pressing a kiss to his cheek at the sight of Jinwoo falling apart again that afternoon.

Haneul must notice his father’s tears, and cranes his neck to look at the man. He whines around the pacifier between his growing teeth, reaching his hands out for Jinwoo. Dongmin lifts the near-toddler into Jinwoo’s arms, and the boy pats at his wet cheeks.

“I’m okay, baby,” he chuckles, resting one hand on the back of Haneul’s head and holding the boy close to his chest, sniffling.

Myungjun coos, “Oh, look at my family!” He rushes to join in on the hug, pressing himself into Jinwoo’s side and pressing the flat of his warm palm against Haneul’s curled back.

Moonbin nudges Dongmin, leaning over to whisper into his ear, “That’ll be us, soon.”

When the two youngest boys arrive, Myungjun has begun making dinner. Minhyuk leads Sanha inside, speedy pace dragging him along. His voice is a booming echo down the hallway, “What smells good?!” Sanha, connected to Minhyuk by their interlaced hands, is tugged violently into the room as the older boy heaves in a deep breath through his nose.

The younger two glance around the room – open plan living, dining, and kitchen. From the entrance, baby Haneul is seen sitting in a high-chair at the dining table, playing with a few crayons and drawing a picture. The eldest two couples are chatting in the kitchen through screens of steam from the food cooking. Sanha immediately goes to kiss the baby on his chubby cheek, “How is my Haneul? What a lovely drawing,” he comments, pointing at the garbled figures on the page.

Minhyuk, on Haneul’s opposite side, pets his hair gently. The baby squeals at them both, excited by their arrival, handing them both a crayon. “Thank you, Haneul,” Minhyuk mutters, smiling, but politely hands it back.

Jinwoo watches the two boys interact with the baby, without even greeting the adults. “You can take Haneul out. Come say hi,” Jinwoo whines, stretching his arms out for the two boys.

The youngest complies, pulling the boy out of his high-chair and clutching him close to his chest. Jinwoo watches his muscles flex, and the way he instinctively steps closer to Minhyuk and waits for him to join him on the short walk over to their friends. Even now, he still must remind himself that these two boys are no longer teenagers – Minhyuk finished university the previous year, and Sanha will graduate his own university course in a year or two.

Sanha clutches the child close to his chest and comes to greet each man in a hug, Minhyuk following shortly after. It’s when Sanha props Haneul onto the counter and holds him up, that Moonbin notices an abnormality. “Sanha?” He asks, catching the boy’s attention. “What’s that on your finger?” He asks, pointing to the hand wrapped gently around Haneul’s waist.

On his fourth finger on his left hand, is a thin silver band. It glimmers under the kitchen lights, the simple ring catching everyone’s attention. It was quickly discovered that Minhyuk had a matching band on his left ring finger, too. The two boys blush a light pink colour, mentioning _a few days ago_ and _promise rings_.

After some teasing, from Bin and Myungjun, and congratulations from Dongmin and Jinwoo (plus, some more tears), Sanha and Minhyuk explain that even though they can’t get married, and they’re still not ready for children, they know they’ll continue their lives together. “Besides, haven’t Minhyuk and I been together longer than any of you?” Sanha mutters.

Dongmin ponders for a moment, before nodding, “You know what, you’re right! You guys got together a month or two before Binnie and I, I think,” he says, and turns to Bin for confirmation.

Bin nods, mumbling something unintelligible around his finger, from which he eats some food stolen from Myungjun’s pan. Myungjun slapped his hand out of the way, but was a little too late, Moonbin’s eyes sparkling with delight. “He said it tastes good, Myungjun,” Dongmin clarifies, somehow able to comprehend the jumbled sounds.

Eventually, the eldest couple set out plates and cups and cutlery, handing out the meal to each guest in their house. Myungjun hands Haneul a sippy cup and a little plastic plate filled with bite size pieces of the meal, and finally settles down to the table. Light conversation falls over the table as everyone reconnects, telling stories of both past and present, and making wishes for the future.

Jinwoo – in his seat between Haneul and Myungjun, across from Sanha and Minhyuk, Dongmin and Bin – simply watches.

He watches Minhyuk slide his chair closer to Sanha’s, and the way Sanha’s lips curl up into a smile whenever their elbows nudge each other on accident. He watches the way Dongmin warns Bin to eat with more caution, and the way Bin tries to feed him heavy spoonful after spoonful of food, giggling. He watches Myungjun laugh at the conversation, and feels the way he subconsciously leans into Jinwoo’s side. He watches, also, Haneul – who’s still learning how to hold his utensils, and has flung most of his meal across his high-chair table. However, he smiles up at his fathers with his cheeky, food covered grin, and somehow, it makes up for the mess.

Jinwoo observes his friends and his family, as he had always done. This time, as they all gather around the dining table and eat a meal together, Jinwoo feels that he is truly happy. He has a loving partner, and a son growing between them, who learns a new way to express himself every day.

Park Jinwoo looks forward to all their futures; for now, they are only sparkling whims, as distant as stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!  
> It's kind of emotional to see this fic go. I'm glad it came out the way it did, with love from all of you very kind people. As I leave the closing message on my first finished fic, I say thank you again!  
> Please check me out on my [tumblr](parkjinchu.tumblr.com) or [twitter](twitter.com/parkjinchu) and we can cry about the finale.  
> See you on the flip side, guys <3


End file.
